Fallout: The Desert Rangers
by MasterOfEscapism
Summary: Set in 2264, seven years before the Ranger Unification Treaty. The Desert Rangers have been fighting raiders, tribals, and super mutants for more than a century but something much, much more ominous awaits them in Arizona.
1. Desert Ranger

**Note**: The inspiration for this story was taken from my other story, The Wastelandic Dream. The main character from WD, Rem, will be the main protagonist of this story, with only a few changes to his character. Instead of having been an NCR Veteran Ranger he'll start off as a Desert Ranger before the Ranger Unification Treaty occurs. Why? I'm just suddenly more inspired to do it this way.

This story will incorporate aspects from the game Wasteland, which is considered to be the predecessor to the Fallout series. Such aspects include the existence of what was known as Ranger Center, which was a prison before the bombs dropped. Military engineers occupied it after the bombs fell and expelled the inmates. That foundation eventually became Ranger Center, the place where Desert Rangers were born and trained. I hope you enjoy!

Finally, I do not own the Fallout universe. I also do not own some of the musical tracks mentioned in the story.

**Additional Note**: When I embarked upon this story, I was in the midst of experimenting with various writing styles, and after receiving a compliment on a piece of work, I was convinced that maybe the paragraphs in my story should be thorough and full. After thirteen chapters of writing this story that way, I received a constructive review from Mo Eazy, which can still be seen in the reviews for this story, and he suggested that this style of writing was actually messy. It made perfect sense, actually, so I reverted to a more fluid style of writing that, well, is better overall. What I'm trying to say is that the first thirteen chapters are written in a way I believe is indeed messier and difficult to read, but the chapters after that are much, much better in terms of readability. Bear with me, is what I'm asking, I suppose! Either way, I plan on remastering the first thirteen chapters eventually. Haven't gotten around to it just yet. Finally, thank you for taking the time to read this!

**Mojave Wasteland**

**September 4th 8:56 pm **

**2264**

"Ow, fuck! Dad this ain't no lil scrape! Hurry yer ass up!" Tears welled up and once they overflowed past the eyelids, they trailed down the young man's cheek in generous amounts. He was holding his right leg with both hands, blood trailing out through two wounds on either side of it. _God damn it_, he had to think, never imagining that a radscorpions pincers could cause damage like this. He'd always been preoccupied with the poison in their tails, but this made him realize that he had been foolish trying to fight the thing with a shovel. "Dad!" This time, the father responded, clearly irritated. "Shut yer trap, Rem! I'm goin' fast as I can!" Moments later, the middle aged man emerged from the bathroom of the establishment, holding a first aid kit in both hands. The way he walked belied his prior statement, because from what Rem could see, he was simply strutting. "Yer lucky it didn't catch ya wit' its tail, son," he said in a condescending tone.

"It woulda got ya once it had ya hooked with its pincer," he added. Rem thought back on it and knew the exact same thing. He'd been out there taking a piss when he heard something skittering towards him. Realizing that he didn't have his 357. revolver with him at the time, he tried his best to improvise by grabbing a nearby shovel, not bothering to yell for help, figuring he could handle it himself. After swinging multiple times and smacking the shovel against its hard exoskeleton, the father noticed something was wrong. At about the same time he came out armed with his lever action shotgun, Rem's leg was caught in the radscorpion's pincers because he'd been so preoccupied trying to parry the tail. But before it could stick its stationary target full of poison, Rem's father came close and blew its tail clean off. With another shotgun blast, the thing was down for the count, but its pincer was shut tightly.

Rem cringed thinking back on how his father used that very same shovel to pry the claws open. "Now sit still, and take yer hands off there." Rem kept holding onto his leg for a few seconds but finally, he let go. "Is it bad?" The father shook his head in response, noting that there wasn't too much blood coming out of there. "Nope," he said simply, before he started pulling the fabric of his jeans up along the leg. "Got ya a few inches above yer ankle," he said, mostly to himself, because he was noting that if the radscorpion had pinched the ankle the bone would likely be visible in the aftermath. "Lil deep but it aint nothin' a stimpak won't fix. Gonna have to clean it up though." Rem immediately got scared, knowing that cleaning the wound usually meant whiskey, and whiskey hurt so much. "We got some med-x in there right dad?" The father went silent for a moment, opening the first aid kit, but he knew the answer before it was open. "Nope. 'Sides, I ain't too keen on pumpin' ya full'a med-x every time you get a lil scrape." When his father belittled the injury, it made him angry, and he yelled, "Dad, you ain't the one bleedin' out - " he was cut off by a sharp slap, right over his cheek, and when he whipped back to look at his father with his eyes wide, there was a finger pointing right at his face. "You watch yer mouth, boy. I told ya what would happen if ya raised yer voice at me." Rem's lower lip trembled, but his father threatened, "An' you better not start cryin', ya hear?" When there was no response, he asked with more intensity, "Ya _hear?_" Rem nodded.

As the whiskey was poured onto the wound in small increments, Rem yelped and then clenched his teeth to stop himself from getting any louder. Instead, he resorted to grunting long grunts of pain to aleviate some of the stress. Then he grabbed the edges of the table and squeezed tightly. "Atta boy," his father encouraged, "This ain't so bad. Hell, I'm already done cleanin' it." After that, the father started wrapping tight bandages around the wound, and the blood immediately soaked the fabric. "Last part, son," he said, still trying to encourage, drawing out the last stimpak they had from the first aid kit. When Rem felt the needle penetrating the flesh near the wound, he clenched his teeth again, but it didn't hurt anywhere near as much as the whiskey had. The liquid was emptied into his body and when it was removed, his father nodded, "That'll do it." He sterilized the needle with the whiskey and put it back in the first aid kid. Hypos were too valuable to throw away. As he did, Rem muttered, out of discipline more so than out of appreciation, "Thanks dad." His father nodded and as if to reward Rem for the discipline he showed, he answered, "Yer welcome, son."

The boy watched his father walk away. Then he did his best to stand and furthermore, he trudged. His father turned his head to the side when he heard the limping, knowing that his son shouldn't be moving but what the hell, if he wanted to act tough, he'd let him. Plus, he wouldn't punish his son for being a real trooper. "What in the hell were ya even doin' takin' a piss outside, Rem?" he absently asked. Rem winced when he stepped, "Jus' wanted to go outside, dad." His father laughed, shaking his head as he put the first aid kit away. Rem stepped into the bathroom and stood in front of the sink, where he turned the water on and started washing his hands. The small town nearby had been courteous enough to offer a place to stay, which included running water, while his father dealt with some problems they'd been having lately. The establishment was in the outskirts of town, which was really stupid because if there was something happening, it'd take his father eight to ten minutes to arrive.

After Rem limped back out to the living room of the cabin, he sat down on chair and started taking off his pants, careful not to hurt himself more. His father walked by, looking casual, but he was definitely watching that his son didn't do anything stupid. By the time he sat down, right next to a record player that was left behind by the person that used to live there, Rem had taken off his pants and was wearing only his tighty whities. His father glanced at him with his head tilted up, and then looked away. Rem knew what that was about, "Don't wanna get my jeans dirtier than they already are." He said it casually, like he was just saying it for whatever reason and not because he knew that his father was wondering what he was doing. His father didn't give a response. Instead, he turned his head to the side and saw a little box on the floor, next to the record player. "Hm, take a look at this, Rem," he commented, reaching into the box and pulling out a few vinyl records. "What they got?" Rem asked, as he looked at the blood on his pants leg and the tears the pincers had made.

""Dean Martin, Bert Weedon," he responded, looking through the black vinyl records. "Kay Kyser," then there was a pause, "Hmm, Ella Fitzgerald. Peggy Lee." Rem smiled just the same way his father did. They looked so much alike. Rem Sr. was a tall, skinny man with blond hair that had started graying and with bright blue eyes. He carried a very rugged, authoritative mien along with him everywhere he walked. His son was a spitting image with a short mop of blond hair, styled the same way as his father's hair, the same bright blue eyes that only looked different in the sense that they were never relaxed, and he was skinny, too, but it looked like he would eventually be just as tall as his father if not taller. "Peggy Lee," Rem Jr. commented, "Man." He sighed as though he were regretting something, "Wudda _loved _being Johnny." Rem Sr. immediately started chuckling, pretty loudly. Oh, how proud he was of his boy. Rem was looking away towards one of the windows with his arms folded behind his head as his father fidgeted with the machine. Eventually, the song he had just referenced came on. Johnny Guitar, with its beautiful, somber tone. "That's the one," Rem Jr. said, nodding in approval. His father smiled wider, thinking of how proud he was of his child.

The music played for a while and they both sat there, enjoying it. It was ridiculous how the apple hadn't fallen very far at all from the tree. In this case, it was as though the apple had fallen and had landed on a branch connected to the very same tree it spawned from. "Dad, how long you think we gonna be here?" As Rem Jr. sat there, sideways, the leg he had rested over the arm rest swayed back and forth. His father's eyes came open and he shrugged slowly, "I dunno, son. Somethin's gotta happen first, an' I was kinda hopin' them Raiders would come after us here since we're so apart from everyone else." His son answered confidently, "They're prolly scared, dad. I bet you anythin' they're sittin' aroun' somewhere watchin' the place right now an' they don't got the balls to do nuthin' about it." As a silence befell them, Rem Jr. studied how his father didn't show any response. His face remained the same as before, like nothing would surprise him. "Right, dad?" His father snapped back into place and answered, "Huh? Oh, yeah, that's right, son," he said, standing up. "Plus, any one of them bastards come close, boom. Won't know what hit 'em." Rem watched his father walk by him and after looking away, he heard the sound of someone pissing into the toilet.

He continued sitting there, thinking about it, but then he just let go of those thoughts and stretched out, yawning as he did. "Dad," he called. The sound of his father washing his hands came before an answer, "Hm?" It was like a grunt, but the two of them were used to communicating with each other. "You're sleepy ain't ya?" Rem Sr. grunted in response and dropped into his chair, which comfortably tilted back to let him lay there. "You get some sleep dad, I'll hold the fort." His father slowly turned to look at him, smiling. "You sure?" Rem Jr. nodded, "I'm sure dad. Get some sleep." In response, he pressed his lips together and nodded, reaching for his brown hat with large brims and placing it over his head to get the darkness he wanted.

The peace lasted about five minutes, and Rem Jr. was pacing towards the bathroom as silently as he could when he heard gunshots in the distance. First it was automatic fire and then semi automatic fire followed it. He whipped around, "Dad!" But by then, his father was already up and heading in the direction of one of the rooms, bolting. Rem paused, leaned up against the bathroom door frame and about a minute later, his father came out, dressed differently. The first noticeable thing about him was the bulky, black soldier helmet sitting on top of a black gas mask. His eyes were covered by a pair of green visors with built in low light optics, and on the side of the helmet there was a flashlight that could be turned on and off. That was the classic Desert Ranger helmet, and it was paired with a suit of black combat armor. The jeans he wore were khakis, good for camouflage in the desert. Finally, a brown, sturdy trench coat covered the armor and went further down to his ankles and was decorated by a plethora of battle scars. Bullet holes that had uselessly penetrated the coat to find the obstinate combat armor behind it and other bullet holes on the back flap that billowed with his father's movements. In his hand, he carried a lever action rifle. A Marlin 1894 and on his back, he carried his lever action shotgun, which was a Winchester 1887. Both of the things could remodel a man's face.

"Dad, I'm coming with!" As his father reached the door he answered, "No." It had been intention to bring him along at first but now that he was wounded, he'd slow him down more than he would have if he were healthy. "But dad!" His father yelled this time, "I said no! Get your revolver, turn out the lights, the music, and be ready in case anything comes your way." Instantly, he felt a sense of pride, thinking that he'd blast anyone that decided the place was helpless now that his father was gone. "Okay dad!" he said, and his father exited the door and slammed it closed behind him. As his father vacated the premises, a pair of eyes watched his movements, narrowing them as he did. "Tch tch tch," he said, dramatizing his sentiments that the Desert Ranger was making a huge mistake. "It's goin' down just as you said it would, Clipper." There were two of them there, hiding behind a rock in the desert, and as Rem Sr. turned his head to look around at the surroundings with the help of his low light optics, they hid behind the rock entirely. He narrowly missed them. "Of course. Next time, we're gonna get him. You wait and see. After that, we're going to get his little boy, too, and let Martha have her fun with him."

As Rem Sr. ran along the expanse of the Mojave Desert, he moved like he was a breeze, brushing along the ground delicately and leaving no trace that it had actually been a person that ran past there. In the distance, he could hear the gunshots, too, and eventually, he was close enough to see that some of the gunshots were coming from inside the windows. The townies were fighting back. When he arrived, he pressed up against a wall and looked around. There was nothing, and so he rounded the corner and continued moving deeper into the town, staying close to the wall, moving closer and closer to the source of the sound with every moment. He knew that he'd get the jump on whoever it was, even if they were aware that these people had acquired the help of a Desert Ranger.

"Suck on this, Sheriff!" one of them yelled, firing automatic fire at one of the windows out of his submachine gun. The bullets peppered the wooden walls and shattered glass but there was no blood to be had. The other, his partner in crime, fired out of his 12mm pistol, randomly, just looking to get lucky. Another minute went by when the one with the submachine gun realized something. He grabbed his last clip and looked at his friend, "Mo. I'm running low on clips here. Where the hell is Clipper?" The other, who wore a mohawk, which was what his name had been derived from, turned to respond, "I don't know man. They're supposed to be here by now! What the fuck's taking them?" As he asked, he fired back at one of the townies. The one who was shooting at them from the safety of two windows just so happened to be the town sheriff. "Hey, come on. Let's go over this way, see if we can get the jump on him." Mo started running, dressed in raider clothing which consisted of iron plates covering his body here and there, and some brahmin leather pants. They ran right under the Sheriff's office and just as they did, they saw someone run right out. A female, who didn't seem to have noticed them. Mo raised a gun to fire at her and just as she realized they were there, he pulled the trigger. Once, it hit her in the chest and when he pulled the trigger again, he blasted another hole into the same area. She fell to the floor, her hand no longer reaching for her pistol.

"Hah! Did you see that bitch go down? She didn't even see it comin'! She was probably trying to get the drop on us, too!" The one with the submachine gun started turning towards the building again when another sound resonated through the town. A singular rifle round, and it tore right into the back of his skull and blew a juicy hole right out through the front of his face. When he fell to the floor, his partner heard the slap and he turned to see. "What the hell?" Another shot was fired and again, more brain cavity and more bone fragments littered their immediate surroundings as he fell to the floor, lifeless. The two of them were down, dead immediately, but they weren't Rem's primary worries. He ran right past them and moved towards the girl, who was on the floor with blood coming out of her mouth. Her legs were curling up and outstretching, eyes wide in surprise, trying to talk but only managing to whimper and cough. Damn it, she was going to die. Immediately, he reached out to her hair and started caressing, "It's almost over, darlin'," he soothed. She was young, no older than twenty five, and she was beautiful. These were the types that it was hardest to be with in their last moments. "Don't be scared. Where you're goin', there ain't no damn raiders. No damn guns, in the first place." As he spoke, she stared at him, still kicking out her legs. Then, all of a sudden, she stopped moving. Rem pressed his lips together under the helmet and shook his head. "Damn it," he uttered. "Sleep well, darlin'," he added, reaching up to her eyes and closing them.

When he stood up and turned around, he saw someone pop out from around a corner and as they pointed a gun at him, he ran and dove behind a wall. The sound of automatic fire blasting at the corner made him angry, because he knew who it had been. "Wesley, what the hell's wrong with ya? It's me! Hold yer fire!" The Sheriff responded, "Forgot my glasses! I'm sorry!" Rem grunted angrily and emerged from around the corner, walking towards Wesley, who was walking towards him, too. "Oh no . . . " he said, as he looked past the two dead raiders at the dead female. "God damn it, Brenda," he lamented, raspy, as he set his Ak-47 down and knelt beside her. Rem spoke with a regretful tone, "She shudda been locked up cozy in her room." He was shaking his head while the Sheriff stared at her lifeless face. As blood trailed down her cheek and dripped onto the floor, he breathed in and released. "Hector ain't gonna take this well. He just lost his son last week to these bastards." When he heard that, Rem gritted his teeth. He wished the raiders had all been there, so he could have handled the problem right now, but now it looked like he hadn't done much of anything to stop the killing. "That's two people they killed now," the Sheriff said, shaking his head. "She was probably out here looking for revenge."

Rem heard foot steps and he immediately turned around and aimed. Three people rounded the corner, they all had likely come out because the gun fire had stopped for a while now, which meant it was over. Two men and a woman, all of them thirty or older with the woman being the eldest. "Oh god, Brenda!" she yelled, immediately stricken with tears as Rem lowered his weapon. The other two stopped right behind her as the older woman knelt down beside Brenda, taking her into her arms. "Brenda!" she yelled, "Tell me it isn't you!" Rem's eyes narrowed when he heard the grief in her voice, and immediately, he turned and looked towards the raiders. It was never easy to listen to someone grieve the way she was grieving. Amidst the cries, the Sheriff spoke, "Brandon. Go get Hector." One of them men glanced at Brenda and then at Wesley. He breathed out and nodded, "Alright." Clearly, it was hard for him to accept the responsibility of bringing Hector out here.

Rem stood by for a couple of moments and then spoke, "Wesley, I'm gonna go take a look around. Bastards might still be hidin' somewhere." Inwardly, he felt guilty even being here anymore, because he hadn't managed to save the girl. His rational side, however, told him it wasn't his fault. Wesley nodded to him and with that, he turned around and went to do some recon. Everywhere he went, he didn't find a thing, and there wasn't anything to be seen in the surrounding wasteland, either. Looked like these two had been sent here alone and there had never been any intention of backing them up, which was odd. But then again, Raiders were so high on chems most of the time that it was impossible to derive patterns and intentions from them going on the things they did.

To make the townies feel at ease he told them he'd stick around the whole night to make sure they'd be more prepared should anything happen. So, when he finally arrived, it was sunrise. He started unlocking the door and when he did, a voice shouted from inside. "I don't take kindly to Raiders! Now you better identify yerself in less than three seconds or I'm blowin' a hole right through the door!" Rem Sr. yelled back, "Shut up! It's yer dad!" There was silence and when he pushed the door open, he found his son sitting on a chair a few feet ahead from the door with dark rings under his eyes, clearly from not sleeping. "What happened, dad?" He asked, sounding more awake than he looked. "Them bastards killed Brenda." As he walked inside, he did so slowly, setting his rifle down on a table and undoing the rope that held his shotgun to his back. After taking it off, he set it down beside the rifle. "Did they get away?" His father shook his head, "I got 'em but there was oly two of 'em there. Their friends are still out there." Rem Jr. smiled, "Well, two for one, dad. Those bastards paid." When Rem Sr. heard that, he paused and looked at his son.

"What is it dad?" All he heard was an exasperated sigh coming from the mask as he began removing it. Once it was off, he set it down beside his weapons and started walking towards the younger of the two. "Doesn't work like that, son." He was speaking softly, which was something Rem Jr. knew all too well. He spoke like this when he was trying to teach him a verbal lesson. "Think about it," he added, kneeling down next to the chair and putting his hand on his head, ruffling those blonde strands of hair up. "Those two raiders was a worthless, sad, rotten pair of vermin that can't have nothin' unless they steal it and Brenda was a beautiful young woman with a heart of gold. Not ten of those raider assholes would make up for what happened to her last night." Hearing that, Rem looked down and then back up at his father's calm, blue eyes. "You understand?" He definitely did understand. The way his father put it wasn't eloquent but damn did it drive the point home, even to a fourteen year old. "I understand, father," he responded. Rem Sr. knew that when his son used father instead of dad, he was trying to make sure he was believed. Like the time he was imploring his mother to believe he hadn't broken her favorite vase. He'd been telling the truth, actually, because Rem Sr. had been the one who'd broken it.

"Atta boy. I'ma get some sleep, son. You do the same, ya hear?" As Rem watched his father walk away, he stood up and started putting his jeans back on, but before his father went into his room, he called to him again, "Dad, you're gonna kill 'em all, right?" The father paused and looked at his son, "Yes, son, but that ain't gonna bring Brenda back, ain't it." The younger stared at him, and after a few moments, he watched him disappear into his bedroom, and so he continued putting his pants on. The blood on the pants leg had been washed off mostly, but the stain was still there. Once they were on, he trudged towards his room and lied down. It didn't take him long at all to fall asleep even though it was light out. Staying awake all night just to be alert took a lot out of you. Especially him, since he wasn't used to it. The last thing he thought about as he was going to sleep was Brenda, who he'd met when his father and he arrived in town a day earlier. She was beautiful, and she was also nice. She had just lost her little brother but even though she was sad about it, she didn't treat anyone else badly. His father was right. Those worthless raiders weren't worth her life even at the hundred thousand mark, or any mark, for that matter.


	2. Can't be hurt

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 5th 2:06 pm**

**2264**

When he woke up later on that day, his leg was feeling a lot better. He had used a pillow to keep it elevated and to keep himself from accidentally hurting it while he slept, but when he woke up and he moved it in a way that would have hurt a lot last night, it only hurt a little. Rem sat up, yawning as he tugged on the fabric of his jeans and saw that there was still blood there. He started taking off the bandage and when it was off entirely, he saw that the skin had already started to repair itself. There were still two lines there, tracing the wounds but they were dry openings, and no blood was coming out of from them. "Looks good," he whispered to himself before he stood up to test it out. Now he could walk on it better than he could last night. "Cool," he commented, and then he started heading out through the door.

Outside, his father was already awake and not only that, he had cooked the gecko meat he had hunted down last afternoon. "Yum," said Rem Jr., "Smells good." His father nodded, "Eat up. We're gonna go into town after ya do. Leg's feelin' all better?" After listening to his father, he sat down and responded, "Yup. Those stimpaks work miracles, dad." Right after, he dug into the food with his bare hands, tearing chunks of meat off of the larger steak and sticking them into his mouth, where he calmly chewed. "Mm," he commented. His father glanced at him, "Good?" Rem Jr. looked up at him, chewing with one eye smaller than the other as if he was deciding whether it was good or not, "Coulda used some spice." His father responded, "Well, we ain't got no spice out here." His son smiled, shaking his head, "I know, dad. I'm just yankin' yer chain. It's good." Rem Sr. smiled, shaking his head before he walked up to the smart mouthed brat and put him in a head lock. "C'mere you lil rascal. Didn't I say somethin' about not sassin' me when you was younger?" With his head in his father's arm, he furrowed his eyebrows and complained. "Yeah yeah dad! You did!" "Say uncle!" "Uncle!" With that, his father let go and chuckled, "Atta boy. You know who's in charge." Rem responded without missing a beat, "Yeah, mom is." "What was that?" his father yelled, whipping his head back at him with wide, convincting eyes. The younger Rem stood up and bolted with a piece of meat in his mouth as his dad tried to catch him and failed. "Yeah ya better be high tailin' it from me, boy. I'll choke some sense into ya." Though the tone was sharp, Rem Jr. somehow knew his father was just messing around.

As they stepped out of the house and walked in straight line away from the door, Rem looked around. "Dad, ain't it a little stupid that we have mines all around the house but none blocking the front entrance?" His father was silent for a moment but he eventually responded, speaking in a tone like his son still had a lot of growing up to do. "When they wanna burglarize yer home they don't come straight fer the front door, Rem. They usually move around the place, feel things out before they do what they wanna do. In the end, most of 'em don't even end up usin' the front door. They pick a window, or the back door." It did make sense now that his father explained it. "I guess yer right." His father glanced at him, "You guess?" Rem glanced up at him, "Uh, yer right, dad." His father nodded in the same motion that he turned away, "Damn right." It was kind of funny for his father to be acting this way when he was wearing the Desert Ranger outfit. The way the head bobbed and the things he said seemed so out of place when they were coming from that masked, combat armored figure.

It took them around ten minutes to get to town with the brisk pace they were walking in and when they did, a few of the townies glanced at them, most of them making note of his father's Desert Ranger armor. Rem Jr. hadn't noticed it but his father had gone silent, like something was on his mind, and there was. He felt guilty to an extent because Brenda had been killed last night, and he had arrived too late to stop it. He knew it wasn't his fault, however. If there absolutely had to be someone to blame, it was Wesley, because he'd been the one who decided to send them out to the damn outskirts. If he had been sleeping in the Inn, Brenda probably would have survived. "Where we goin', dad?" When he heard the question, he was brought back from his thoughts and he answered, "Sheriff's place. Need to have a word with Wesley." As they walked past some of the people, one elder woman in particular, by the name of Jasmine, stopped and turned her body in the father's direction. Another, a young man by the name of Michael, stopped behind her. The seconds slowed down that moment when she stopped, because he sensed something bad. He'd been in these situations before, where he'd be blamed for failing to save someone's life when he'd said he'd take care of things. "Please . . . " she began, sounding more desperate than angry. It wasn't much, but it was a relief to see that she wasn't going to chew him out. If she had, his blood would have boiled and he would have exploded. If there was anything that could rip him out of his composure it was people blindly blaming the wrong person. "Please stop this." Rem's father nodded firmly, "I will do everything that is within my power to stop anyone else from dyin', ma'am. You have my word."

Michael, who was standing behind her, spoke, "Too late for that. Hector cut his wrists last night." The way he said it would have sounded convicting if he'd spoke just a little louder and without the frailty, but it seemed more informative and regretful than anything. Rem's father stuttered, "I - - I see. I'm sorry, sir." The older woman nodded for her son, "Not your fault." She reached up and put her hand on his armored shoulders to reassure him, "It's _their _fault." She took her hand away and started walking while Rem Sr. stood silent and still for a couple of seconds. As Rem Jr. stared up at his father, which looked statuesque in that unmoving suit of armor, he didn't know that he was secretly thanking whoever was responsible for that woman's kindness. Very few people were reasonable and she was one of the ones who was. "Dad?" In response, the black face mask glanced at him and spoke, "Let's go, son." They started walking again and before long, they arrived at Wesley's.

The Desert Ranger pushed the door open roughly and inside, he found Wesley. Wesley was probably around thirty five years old with red hair, green eyes covered by a pair of glasses, and though he seemed relatively fit physically, he was starting to look very inadequate for the job at this point. "What can I help you with?" he asked, from behind his desk. "I need to bunk at the Inn. Otherwise, things like what happened last night are gonna to keep happenin'. Takes me too long to get here." Wesley shrugged his shoulders and held his hands up like it wasn't his fault, "I told you the Inn doesn't have any vacancies, and Mrs. Cravitz won't have anybody bunking in there for free." Rem lost it but it didn't look like it. He calmly walked up to Wesley's desk with his rifle and slammed the butt against the surface, causing it to ripple in response to the force he exerted. Wesley's shoulders jumped and the younger of the Rems was startled, too. He'd always been afraid of his father when he got angry. Not because he was used to getting brutal beatings as a kid but because the man was so strong. "I don't give a god damn what ya have to do Wesley but if ya won't go do nothin' about it I swear to my momma's grave that _I _will, and what I do won't be particularly good for yer image." Wesley stared up at him, terrified. "Do you understand me, Wesley?" Wesley didn't say a thing for a few seconds but finally, he gave in. "Alright alright, I'll have a word with Mrs. Cravitz. If she says - - " The Desert Ranger cut him off, "Doesn't matter what she says, Wesley. Tell her that if she don't give ya that god damn vacancy - " he stopped himself. "Tell ya what, we'll bunk here, instead." Wesley stared at him, and though he wouldn't admit it, he didn't like the thought. The idea that someone else would be here at the station playing the role of police made him feel inadequate, like the people would view it as weakness, but he didn't have it in him to say no. "That works, actually," he responded. "Go right on ahead.

Without saying a word, the two of them started pacing in but the older of the two stopped, "Rem, run an' fetch our stuff from the house. Isn't much so ya should be able to carry it by yerself." Wesley was leaning back in his chair as he listened to them. "Okay dad, I'll be back real fast." When Rem started walking towards the door, Wesley glanced at him, pensively. When he went out he turned to look at the Ranger from over his shoulder. The man went and sat down on one of the more comfortable chairs in the office. Wesley turned back and after a few moments, he stood up. "I'll be back in a few if you don't mind." When he glanced back at Rem for a response, all he got was a dismissive wave of his hand. With that, he stepped outside and looked towards his left, locking eyes with Rem Jr.'s back. Then he turned and started walking towards his house. When people walked by him he smiled and nodded to them, "Afternoon," to one person. "Ms. Beasley?" to another lady along the way. They'd nod back or some of them would smile and wish him a good day.

As Rem walked, he was silent. He rarely locked eyes with any of the people who walked by him but at some point in time, he did. He found himself glancing at a young girl, probably his age give or take a year or two. He wasn't going to say anything but before he went past her, she spoke. "Hey there." Rem turned his eyes back to her and stopped walking, answering timidly, "Hello." She smiled when he responded, noticing the thick accent with which he spoke. "Where are you going?" she asked, with a smile on her face. The girl had long black hair with a pair of dark brown eyes, and she was a few inches shorter than he was. "Goin' over to our old place to get a few thangs. Why do ya ask?" She shrugged at him and looked towards his hip, noticing the 357. revolver that was holstered there. "Aren't you too young for guns?" Rem shook his head, "Dad says yer never too young for a gun in this day and age. 'Sides, he says he had one early as when he was nine years old." She looked off to one side absent mindedly and responded with another subject, "My name's Maggy." She reached out to shake his hand and in response, he reached out, took her hand, and brought it up to his mouth to place a kiss on the knuckle. His father had told him that was a very polite thing to do but it didn't hit him that he was too young to be acting so cordially, especially towards a girl as young as her. His mother and father would have found it adorable, however. "Remington, but you can call me Rem." She nodded to him, retracting her hand from him, wondering why he had kissed her knuckles. "I'll call you Remy," she commented. Rem gave her a puzzled look and reached up to his head, scratching. "Uhh . . . that's fine, I suppose." There was a pause and after a few moments, he broke it, "Well, I'll be seein' ya. You take care now." Maggy nodded to him, still smiling, "You, too." As he walked away with his hand resting just atop his revolver like he was a town Sheriff, she turned around and went on about her business running errands for her mother.

When he started reaching the limits of the city, he threw glances around. Left and right and then straight ahead, at everything he could possibly see. It looked normal. Well, as normal as the Mojave Wasteland could look. Aside from the occasional barrel cactus and perhaps a honey mesquite tree, there was nothing but sand. It looked safe enough so he didn't stop walking. With the time going by slowly but placidly, he never stopped throwing glances around. That was something his father had always told him. Something about how a Desert Ranger's first priority should be to always be the last to be seen. It sounded rational enough, but right now, all the discipline was coming from what had happened the night before. There was no way he wanted to have another flat footed encounter with a radscorpion. When he arrived without incident, he started doing other things he'd been taught. He surveyed the surrounding expanse of the house without getting too close. He didn't want to be blown to pieces, and when he reached the door, he checked to see if anybody had been tampering with the door. When he didn't find anything, he drew his revolver, which was the last bit of insurance. The door was unlocked and thereafter, he stepped inside, carrying the revolver from one side of the living room to the other, waiting. When nothing came, he stepped inside and holstered his weapon, closing the door behind him. Little did he know that there had been six pairs of eyes watching where he went.

"Shhh . . . we'll do this nice and quiet . . . " The voice was coming from a behemoth of a raider by the name of Krobar. On his back rested the thing after which he had been aptly named. A crowbar with both its ends sharpened into stabbing points, stained with old blood, just how he liked it to be. And behind him, there was another one. A smaller guy, armed with a puny 9 mm pistol whose name was Jason. In his head, he figured that guns didn't need to be big as an arm to be lethal, and he was usually right. "I'm going to hook him by the balls, you wait and see," whispered Krobar, with a deluded look on his face. The one who followed him remained silent, not saying a thing, as they navigated the Sheriff's office. Rem Sr. was sitting in the very same place. On a chair, a rather comfortable chair, at that, ruminating. He was considering whether or not he'd go back to Ranger Center after this or if he'd take his son scavenging. The thought of teaching his son everything he knew was exciting but after a month of being away from home, he was afraid that he had started to miss his wife. What the hell, right? Rem was only fourteen, after all, and he had a long, long time to learn. He, on the other hand, was thirty seven. His lips widened into a smile when he thought that he was on his way out, that his hips would probably start acting up soon, and that his knees might not be as bouncy as they used to be in a year or two. He remembered how his dad was still breaking jaws by the time he was forty five, rest his soul, and he knew that he'd be the very same way. To tell the truth, he felt great physically, and he knew he'd be around for a while if he wasn't killed. As he left those thoughts behind and shifted, a shadow began manifesting behind him, delineating a dark shape of a pistol oh so ominously.

Rem Jr. was busy looking through the room, collecting everything he needed to collect before heading back to town. He picked up the ammo stash, the food stash, the water, and the first aid kit they'd stored in the bathroom for emergencies. As he walked around inside, Clipper saw him walk right by a window without even bothering to look outside. "Hey, Cody, you're up. Surprise the kid." A man stepped up from the six of them. He was a short, dusty son of a bitch with two front teeth missing. The guy didn't look so tough. If anything, he looked lazy, but the hammer he had in his hand, which was covered in dry blood, belied his appearance. Cody could be a real monster if he got close enough. "Go get 'em," one of the others whispered. This one a female in her early thirties with piercings all throughout her body. There was one in her nose, three on each eyebrow, another three on her bottom lip, and numerous others in places that couldn't be seen. It that didn't make it safe to say that this was Martha, then the fact that she was the only female there, was. "But if you kill him, I'm going to give you a dick piercing!" She was whispering loudly but still whispering, so Cody wasn't able to hear the last part. "Shut up," said Clipper, and they watched him go along.

That 9 mm pistol was coming ever closer. When the raider carrying it turned around to look for Krobar, he was gone, likely sneaking up some other way just in case one of them was found out. "Hmph," he breathed, in disapproval, and continued moving. It wasn't until he saw the back of the Desert Ranger's helmet around the corner, however, that he was suddenly terrified. He remembered being told stories of these guys. About how one of them had braved the fury of a flame thrower enough to pop a shot right between the wielder's eyes, and others about how they had manhandled groups of fellow raiders single handedly. He gulped thinking about it, figuring that all those stories were stories of Desert Rangers who hadn't been stupid enough to get caught off guard. Right? He had reassured himself until when again, he inched closer to the corner, his 9 mm pistol suddenly felt so puny. Where the hell was he going to shoot this guy? No way this bullet could pierce the helmet, even point blank, and no way it could penetrate the body armor. He could shoot him in the legs, but his back was facing him. No way he could get a clean shot there. _Damn it,_ he cursed, inching closer nonetheless, when . . . _**boom!**_

Rem Jr. had packed everything into a duffle bag when it happened. "Shit!" he yelled, loudly, as he heard one of the mines go off. When he turned in the direction of the explosion, he saw pieces of . . . something falling to the ground, and glass shattering. "What the hell?" he yelled, running up to the window and putting his hands on the sill. When he looked down, he saw a pair of dark brown eyes staring lifelessly at the sky, attached to an inert body. Pieces of leg were strewn about, and when he looked up he saw five raiders running out from behind some cover. "Ah, fuck!" he cursed, turning away from the window as he took off the duffle bag and drew his revolver. These bastards had been there all along, and for some reason or another, he knew this wasn't the only time they'd been watching. Surely, they'd at least been there enough times to see his father go out the front foor in a straight line and dodge being blown to pieces by the mines. With that in mind, he immediately threw a table over and took cover behind it, aiming at the door. _If I can hold 'em off 'til dad gets here, I'll be fine,_ he thought.

When the explosion was heard in the distance, the Desert Ranger immediately popped up from his seat. The motion terrified Jason and he quickly fell back into cover, pressing his back against the wall tightly, and that's when he realized he'd been sweating. The Desert Ranger stepped further into the office, moving towards the door with his Winchester 1887 in hand. It wasn't until after he rounded the Sheriff's desk that something manifested in his left periphery. Something big, and when he turned to look at it, he saw a huge raider holding a weapon right in front of the light. After he saw the brilliance shimmer off the surface of the iron, the brute swung horizontally, smacking the Ranger in the left side of his head. "Agh!" he grunted, losing balance as he fell towards the desk and pressed up against it to stop. Thanks to the helmet, it wasn't lights out, but he still had to worry. The brute followed up quickly, gritting his teeth tightly, but a moment before he swung, the Ranger pushed back with movement of his own and smacked the butt of the shotgun right into his face. Krobar stumbled back as the Ranger moved to point the lever action shotgun at his chest, but before he pulled the trigger, something else, again, manifested in his left periphery. A gun, so he quickly swung the weapon to his left and pulled the trigger. Bits and pieces of Jason's head went splattering by as he fired the pistol uselessly at the wall. The moments were going by fast and he knew that in times like these, he had to stay alert. The lever action was performed with seamless discipline as he turned to point at Krobar again to finish the job, but it was too late. He felt the brute's weight crashing wildly into him, sending him tumbling against the desk and then to the ground. With the shotgun pinned under the weight of his enemy, he gritted his teeth in frustration, knowing that they were going after his son, too.

"Oh shit, Cody! Man, there's mines all over the place, Clip!" Another of the male raiders, which was equipped with a double barrel shotgun, yelled. Martha's eyes were wide as the five of them approached, "Cody, baby! No!" Tears welled up in her eyes and then her eyebrows furrowed in anger. "I'll make him pay!" She started running when one of the others grabbed her by the shoulders, yelling, "Stop, dumb ass. There are mines all over the place!" Clipper was standing there, thinking, when it finally hit him. "Everywhere except the front door," and with that, he started sprinting forward. Rem heard something grabbing at the door knob and immediately, he fired. The bullet pierced the wooden door and on the other side, Clipper screamed as the projectile tore through his chest cavity, piercing his heart. "Agh!" Martha's eyes widened and immediately, she picked Clipper's body up and pressed it up against the door. Rem cocked the revolver and after the cylinder turned, he pulled the trigger. The recoil of the revolver kicked his hand up but when he realized that nobody screamed on the other side, he gritted his teeth. Then, the door knob started opening, and in came Clipper's limp body, falling to the ground. Rem was silent, and he hadn't noticed that he was sweating.

The moments were going by slowly when he finally saw something. A machine gun of some sort and before he could aim and fire at it, it did. Bullet spray peppered the table, piercing through it in some places and as it did, he threw his body to the side and dove away from it. They heard something tumbling and when they did, each of them flooded into the house. "Get him!" yelled Martha, as three other raiders ran in there with her. Rem rolled into the kitchen and gritted his teeth when he saw there were two openings to it, one leading back into the living room he'd been in and another leading to the same living room, closer to the door. Immediately, he stood up and started running towards the other opening, realizing that he could probably get the jump on someone from there and just as he rounded the corner, a rifle butt extended outward and clobbered him in the face. His hand went limp and his revolver fell out of his hand, and right after that, he opened his eyes to peer up into the barrel of an M16. "Don't move, kid." He listened.

As Krobar rested his body down on the Ranger with all the weight he could possibly put down on him, he moved his right hand, eventually giving himself the opportunity to pin the shotgun down against the armored chest of his opponent with his left hand while he lifted the crowbar overhead. "I got you now!" he grunted, moments before he felt two assertive hands grabbing him by the collar and pulling him down with unpexpected force. At the same time, the Ranger's helmet rocketed up towards his face, creating one hell of a collision that didn't break his nose, but was excruciating nonetheless. "Agh fuck!" he yelled, whipping his head back as the world spun for a moment. The Ranger saw his chance just then. Krobar was holding his weapon with his right hand, elevated with the straight end pointed downwards, so he let go of the collar and reached out to it with both hands, and grabbed it. With Krobar's hand still holding the weapon he pulled with all the strength he had, aligning the tip with the raider's side as he did, and skewered him with his own weapon. Krobar let out a scream as the tip penetrated the skin and punctured a lung. "Git off me," the Ranger muttered, pushing the man off of him to his right side. Krobar hit the floor holding the weapon as he started to curl up, groaning in pain. That was when the door flung open and Wesley stood in the door way, pointing the Ak-47 towards whatever was inside. There were a couple of people standing outside, too. One was Michael and the other was Brandon. Nobody but Wesley was armed. "Oh . . . shit, you got 'em," Wesley commented, looking down at the aftermath. Jason was on the floor, his face utterly destroyed, and Krobar, the biggest, toughest looking raider he'd ever seen in his life, was on the floor gurgling blood, dying slowly. When he looked at the Ranger, he was standing up, taking his shotgun into hand, breathing harshly beneath the helmet. God damn, this fucker was tough. "They went after mah boy," he said, "Gonna go teach 'em a _real_ bloody lesson." As he stepped by them, he loaded one shell into the shotgun, replacing the one he'd used, and started jogging. Wesley was speechless for a few moments but he quickly returned, whipping his head towards the Ranger. "I'll come with you!" Then he ran after him, with Brandon and Michael watching as he did. The Desert Ranger knew that Wesley was only looking to earn some more respect but regardless of the reason behind his actions, he could use some back up.

Rem Jr. stood in place with both arms being held by one guy to either side as Martha grinned and knelt down, rolling a leather sheet open on the floor. When he looked into it, he saw a plethora of what could be referred to as jewelry. Rings, barbells, and hooks, just tucked into slots, all things that she was openly wearing on herself. When the realization of what she wanted to do with him hit him, he pulled and kicked, and all he got was a strong thump square in the diaphragm. The breath was knocked out of him and all he could do was wheeze as his legs gave out underneath, but even so, they didn't let him drop. He tugged his arms gently, wanting to hold his stomach but they wouldn't let him. "Stay still, kid. Don't worry, either. Martha usually never kills her playthings," one of the raiders remarked, nonchalantly. Martha pulled out what looked like a needle, only it was thicker. It was used to make holes for piercings. "That's right. If they're dead, they don't squeal and scream, and that won't get me off," Martha answered, nonchalantly as well. "If you're a good boy," she smirked, licking her lips, "I might even fuck you. I _know _boys your age are curious." She reached out and touched his chin, lifting his face up a little so she could stare into his blue eyes. It wasn't the prospect of great sex that interested her, it was the prospect of imprinting herself into his memory for the rest of his life that did. "Mmmm . . . you have pretty eyes. I can already imagine how nice they'd look looking up at me from between my legs, tongue on my clit." Rem could understand what they were saying but he had no idea what a clit was, and even if he did, he wouldn't have cared because all he could think about was the pain in his stomach, and his inability to breathe correctly.

"Alright, where should I start?" she wondered. "The nipple . . . " she declared, and reached for a pair of scissors. While they held him, she started cutting through the fabric, eventually ripping it off, leaving Rem's upper body bare. When she looked at it, she felt like a painter staring at a blank canvas. There was so much freedom to do anything she wanted. "So much room for creativity . . . " She reached towards his body and grabbed hold of his nipple, bringing the needle closer. When he felt it right up against the skin he jerked his body, kicking outwards, earning himself another punch in the stomach. When the raider's fist collided into his diaphragm again, he wheezed, and then both the raiders propped him up against the wall and put their legs in front of his to stop him from kicking around. "All yours, Martha." She grinned and came closer, reaching out towards his nipple again. When she touched it, she gently toyed with it, and it was then that Rem finally felt how disgusting her intentions were. He gritted his teeth and looked up at her, seething at how uncomfortable this suddenly felt. "Get the fuck off me ya fuckin' pervert." Martha laughed a stifled laugh and teased him, like she wanted him to get angry, "Aww, what's wrong, kid? Not grown up enough for this?" He watched as her tongue snaked around his nipple. In response, he gritted his teeth and jerked, and this time, Martha punched him herself. Her fist collided against his cheek and everything started to spin. "Stop moving, kid, or I'll stop being nice," she ordered, as Rem's face hung low to his right side.

The house could be seen the moment he stepped out of the outskirts of the city, but even though it was so close, it felt like he was miles away from it. He was experienced enough to know that in situations like these two minutes, or hell, one minute, could be an eternity. By the time he got there, his son could be a bloody pulp, decorating the floor. He pushed the thoughts away and ran faster while Wesley tried to keep up behind him, fogging up his glasses as he worked up a sweat. As the Ranger changed his direction, opting for a more obscure route, he followed, and about four minutes later, the two of them were positioned behind a high hill. Rem spoke immediately after Wesley arrived, "I'm gonna sneak in through that window you see right there," he gestured. "One next to the pile of turd." He was referencing Cody. "There are no mines left there, so it'll be safe." Wesley listened, nodding, looking terrified but somehow resolute in his own way, "What do I do?" Rem responded, "Yer gonna go in right through the front. There are no mines there so ya don't have to worry. Don't go in until after I've gone in, ya hear? If shit gets messy inside they won't see ya comin'." Wesley figured it was a good plan, and he could easily do that. "Alright. Now?" The Desert Ranger responded, "Sher as hell," and he started moving. When he jogged, he almost glided, covering long, quick distances with each stride until he had arrived at the window unnoticed.

The window was already open, thankfully, since it'd been shattered by the mine. His eyes were scanning the living room inside and when he saw one of them come out, the only one who wasn't participating in Martha's party, he hid under the window. After the man went past he peeked in again, noticing that there was another dead raider near the door. For a moment, he was glad to know that his son had killed one of them, but then again, he wasn't sure if whether or not he was dead already. The thought made him wince his eyes as fear settled onto him, weighing him down, almost mourning from the get go but he pushed those feelings aside and grasped his composure tightly. No, he couldn't distract himself yet. He still didn't know. His son could very well still be alive inside. It took a few moments but when he saw the right chance, which was when the sentry posted out in the living room headed into the kitchen, he hoisted himself up and over the window with feline grace, landing so softly on the ground that the shards of glass barely crunched. One step later, he had traversed the glass and had stepped on sturdy wood, and he started pacing ever so softly towards the kitchen. It wasn't time to start making noise yet.

"What they got?" asked the lone raider. This one was hispanic with a lockpad beard around his mouth, and a scar on his cheek. His choice of weapon was a double barrelled shotgun, which he carried around in his hand. "Nothing? Come on. Fucking cheap skates," he complained. Thereafter, he walked out of the kitchen, looking towards the window that had been shattered, which was to his right, while the Desert Ranger was hiding up against the wall to his left. The shotgun toting raider didn't see or hear a thing but a moment later, it was lights out. The shotgun butt hit him in the side of the head, stealing away his consciousness and when he dropped to the floor, he did so unceremoniously. The Ranger knelt down and set his shotgun on his thighs, reaching out to the side of the raider's jaws and in one swift movement, he broke his neck. There was a dull crack and the man's head was suddenly loose weight. The door to Martha's room opened, "What the hell was that?" Just as he asked, he saw the Desert Ranger and those eyes widened. "Oh fu- " and was cut off by a shotgun blast. The pellets tore into his chest and sent him falling back into the room, garnering the attention of the last two raiders. Martha screamed, "What the fuck?" Rem's eyes widened and he yelled, "Dad!" The last raider, named Tommy, with the M16, stepped out with his rifle pointed forth and the moment he did, he ran right into the Desert Ranger. Before he could pull the trigger his weapon was shoved aside by the lever action shotgun's barrel but as it started realigning towards his chest for a shot, he burst forth, pushing up against the ranger to keep himself from being shot. "Martha, help!" he yelled, suddenly terrified, fully aware that he could only hold his own for seconds before he felt the jarring impact. A knee smashed into his diaphragm so deeply, it sent his breath rushing out of his mouth. He wheezed as he bent forth and that was when the door flung open. Martha stepped out, aiming her submachine gun, and pulled the trigger. She watched in horror as the ranger grabbed Tommy's body like a rag doll and set it in front of him as a shield. Bullets peppered the body and when they did, she immediately ducked back into the room, slamming the door closed. Right after, Tommy's lifeless body hit the floor, landing on its back, and the Ranger stepped forth towards the room.

The front door flung open and before Wesley could survey the entire living room, there was a shotgun pointed at him. "It's me," he said, prompting the Ranger to lower his weapon. Wesley glanced away and to the floor, looking at all the raiders, all of them dead. Tommy was gone, shot multiple times in the back. Jose was on the floor as well, face down with his head turned to one side. "You . . . by yourself?" The Desert Ranger didn't say a thing, instead stepping forth towards the last order of business, which was hiding inside the room. When he walked by, Wesley stood following his movements with his eyes, nothing more. _This guy's . . . this guy's a real monster_, he thought to himself, moments before he picked up Jose's double barreled shotgun.

When he pushed the door open and saw his son being held in Martha's arms with a gun to his head, he stood there, resolute, and where most people would be absolutely stunned into silence, he spoke, "Let him go and I'll let ya live." Martha stared at him, tucked behind the son's body, trying to hide as much of her person as she could, but as she stared into those green visors knowing there was a man inside, she wondered how the hell this had happened. She was lost in thought but the Ranger's voice snapped her out of it eventually. "Let him go and I'll let ya live." The way he said it . . . she could have sworn he said it the _exact _same way as he had the first time. "Fuck you . . . " she retorted, and a silence followed, during which they simply stared each other down. Every inch of her merciless, chemed out persona was clawing at her to be defiant until the end but with more time going by, the more the realization that she was going to die here choked her. More silence followed, seemed like an eternity, until she . . . caved. "Alright," she said, "I'll let your fucking kid, go. But I live, alright?" The Desert Ranger responded calmly, "Sure thang, sweetheart." God damn it, she'd never been so intimidated in her entire life. The way he said that made it appear so much like a lie but this . . . this was her only chance. If she killed the kid, she'd surely die, whereas if she let him go, she _might _live. She knew what the better choice was. "Okay . . . go on, kid," she let go of the Ranger's son and pushed him forth. Nobody heard it, but Rem's father breathed a sigh of relief just then, feeling so glad that this was over with. But then . . . a shotgun blast resonated through the house.

"Aaaaaagh! Fuck!" The Desert Ranger dropped his shotgun to the floor just at the same time that his right leg was detached from the rest of it at the knee. The son screamed, "Dad! No!" Instantly, he felt a different, more powerful kind of fear than the one he had felt when Martha was going to pierce him. His father's leg had just been _blown off_ by a double barreled shotgun. "AAAAAAAGH!" he yelled, reaching out for his leg and grabbing it, like it'd help at all. Wesley stood behind him with the double barreled shotgun in hand, which was smoking out the barrel. He glanced down and then back up at Martha, who was looking so relieved. "Why in the hell!," Wesley began, taking a deep breath before he did. "Do I? Have to always be! _**Involved**_! Why can't _any _of you useless fucking idiots do anything on your own!" He was speaking in rising anger and in the end of it, he screamed louder than he had at any point in time. The son started crawling towards his father but before he got there, Martha reached down to his ankles and pulled him back, ignoring Wesley's outburst entirely. Wesley idly stood by, loading two shells into the shotgun while the Desert Ranger writhed on the floor, grunting and cursing. "Fuck, shit, uuuuugh FUCK!" he yelled. "Wesley, you two timin', pathetic, worthless fuckin' _turd_!" he screamed, almost incoherently. "Yeah yeah yeah," replied Wesley, waving the shotgun around dismissively. "Take your mask off," he ordered, pointing the gun at the Desert Ranger's head. The son yelled, "Dad!" he tried to pull towards him but as he did, he was whipped across the cheek by Martha's submachine gun. When he dropped to the floor, the world spun but he lifted his eyes to glance at his father nonetheless.

"Fuck you, Wesley. I ain't takin' off shit." When the son heard his father's voice, he knew something was off. He'd never heard him talk like this. He sounded tired, or like . . . like he had given up. Unbeknownst to the son, the Ranger was coming to terms with the fact that he was about to die.. "Martha?" Martha sat down on the younger of the two and put the barrel of her submachine gun right up against his head. The Ranger glanced towards the woman, as if he knew that was coming, and then back up to Wesley. Beneath that mask, his eyes were calm, but he was sweating profusely. "Take it off, _Ranger_," said Wesley. The son's eyes cleared up just in time to see his father on the floor, staring up at the dual barrels of the shotgun. He'd never seen a man in that combat armor look so . . . vulnerable. "If I take it off, Wesley, will ya let my son go?" Wesley smiled because the man sounded so very angry, and then he started chuckling, "Yeah sure, whatever." When he heard that, he gulped and glanced at his son. When the realization hit him that these few words would be the last he'd ever speak to his son, a haunting weight settled on his chest, and his mouth wouldn't move. The seconds went by slowly and he was thinking about everything. He would never see his wife again and he would never have a chance to see his son grow up. All things that could make many men beg for mercy, but not him. The pain that he got from thinking like that somehow made him numb to the pain in his leg. "Hurry it up," Wesley commanded, knocking him out of the trance. Tears were ready to come out but when he decided that he didn't want his son to see him cry, he _willed _them away. "I'll never truly be gone, Remy. S'long as ya never forget me, I'll always be here. I love ya, and your mother, too." When his father called him Remy, it just simply, plainly, broke his heart. It felt like his chest was sinking towards his stomach. The Ranger, on the other hand, spoke his last words and didn't feel like it had been good enough.

"Father . . . " he said, tears starting to come out from his eyes. His father turned to look at Wesley and thereafter, he started removing his helmet. "Dad no! Dad! No!" The panic was vivid in his voice but also in his bright blue eyes, which were wide in horror. "Dad don't do it! Dad!" He yelled louder and louder, but Martha kept his rage under control. When he saw the helmet come off, and when he saw his father's calm blue eyes staring up at the barrels of that shotgun, he yelled again at the top of his lungs. "DAAAAAD!" When the shotgun blast reverbertaed in his ears, he didn't stop screaming. He kept screaming. No, father, no. Please. Father. "Dad! Get up! Damn it dad get yer ass up!" When it finally hit him full on that his father was gone, he stopped screaming, but the emotions were still tempesting wildly within him, and all he could see was what was left. Bone fragments, skin, brain matter, and blood seeping out from the huge, gaping wound like a faucet. The rest of the body was lying motionless, hauntingly so. "Dad . . . " he whispered, one last time.

Martha stood up, grinning as Wesley idly dropped the shotgun to the side. "Don't tell me you're the only one left." Martha nodded, "Yup." Wesley furrowed his eyebrows and yelled, "FUCK! We need more than two people for this to function, Martha! How the fuck are we going to steal anything of value from them now!" Martha stared at him with a puzzled look on her face. Then, she realized something, "H - hey . . . we can, I don't know, sell the armor," she gestured towards the felled Desert Ranger lying motionless in the room. Wesley's face was unchanging but when he caught on to just how much they might make out of it, he smirked. "Finally, one of you fuckers gets a good idea. Alright, I'll let you clean up and I'll go tell the townies the raiders are done, and that the Ranger's cleaning up." Rem exploded, and Wesley watched him stand up and run towards him. "Mother fucker! Die!" he moved towards his father's shotgun but before he could get to it, Wesley's ak-47 slammed into his temple, knocking him into unconsciousness. "Stupid runt," he muttered, "After you've had your fun, clean up. And make sure you don't forget the armor." With that, he began walking away.

When he arrived in town, there was a group of people waiting for him, and he looked shaken up. "Jesus, that Ranger sure knows what the hell he's doing." Maggy's mother spoke, "Are the raiders gone?" Wesley nodded frantically, "Oh yes they're definitely gone. Won't be hearing from them and we'd be smelling them soon if the Ranger hadn't volunteered to do clean up." As Wesley went by them, seemingly quick about getting away from having to answer questions, Brandon asked. "Wait, Wes, what happened exactly?" Wesley stopped and turned around, staring at Brandon in clear frustration, "The Ranger killed them all. Down to the last one, and saved his son, who didn't suffer any injuries. None of us did." Feeling he had been thorough enough, he turned around just in time to hear another question, "Why do you look so shaken up then?" The Sheriff answered as he walked away, "Being in a shootout with some psychotic raiders isn't something you shrug off, Brandon." Thereafter, no questions came but Michael spoke. "Damn, those Desert Rangers are tough as nails. They say they've been around since the war. Damn long time, if you ask me. They can't be hurt." While the Sheriff vacated, there was still a shroud of fear hanging over him but inside, he was laughing hysterically.


	3. Ain't gonna bring me back

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 5th 7:46 PM**

**2264**

For a while, he'd been deeply unconscious. There was nothing but eventually, when he entered that small space between sleep and unsleep, he started feeling the pain again. Not physical pain, but emotional pain, and it all seemed so unreal. It felt like a dream but when he woke suddenly, he knew it was real. "Aaaaagh . . . " he grunted, in pain, barely managing to stifle a scream. When he looked down he saw that he was on a bed, stripped down to his undergarments, and that there were barbells through his nipples and hooks in his stomach. It hurt so badly and when the pain coalesced with the shock of his father's death, it was almost unbearable. He wanted to start crying, to start screaming for his father and his mother, to just get away from this horrid reality. But as he thought to, something tugged at him. It was like a hand reaching at his consciousness and taking hold, anchoring him to reality, urging him to think about staying alive instead. That was when he started noticing things, like that he was alone in that room, untied, and that there were sounds of someone moving around outside the door. Then the bag of tools and other sick objects in it. What stood out most was the scalpel tucked inside.

When the door opened, Martha came through, wearing nothing but a thong and carrying her submachine gun in her hand just in case. She had drugged her victim, but that didn't mean he couldn't wake up any minute now. Her body was absolutely covered in piercings. It all went from her thighs to her stomach, to her large breasts and up to her face. "Still asleep?. Well good, cause I'm not done with you yet," she declared proudly, glancing at Rem's bloody body as it lay on the bed, same way she left it. After she set her gun down on a night stand, Rem felt her coming on, hovering over his body and placing a seriatim of disgusting kisses on the wounds she'd caused as she went up. "I know it's going to hurt when you wake up baby, but after a while, you'll like it." The idea that she could corrupt someone from a very young age was just exciting to her. Perhaps less exciting and more arousing, actually.

Rem's eyes twitched and then he sat up in one swift motion, much to her surprise. Her eyes went wide when she felt something cutting its way into her throat, something she hadn't seen hidden under his hand. "Agh . . . " she gurgled, "urrrrrgh . . . " Her throat tightened and her eyes seemed to bulge. Rem gritted his teeth and twisted the scalpel while she reached up and dug her nails into his sides. As one hand held her by her hair and the other dug deeper and deeper into her throat like he was digging a grave there, he found so much satisfaction in the way she was struggling. "Bitch . . . " he muttered, pressing the scalpel further and twisting. She struggled for a while, gurgling and scratching, kicking her legs out but it was easy to tell that life was slowly abandoning her, and finally, she stopped moving with her eyes staring lifelessly at him. He peeled her off his person and started to stand, whimpering, entirely unphased by the fact that this was only the second person he'd ever killed. Once he was finally on his feet, he threw his face up and bellowed in pain, reaching for his chest as his eyes started tearing, realizing the extent of how painful this was. He touched at the barbells and the hooks, tugging them to try to remove them, and he winced each time he hurt himself. "How the . . . " he asked, stuttering, as he continued trying to desperately figure them out. It took him a while but he did, and he went through the arduous process of unscrewing everything until finally, everything was off. All the decorations had fallen to the floor in pings, one by one, and like a zombie, he trudged past them.

When he came out, he was wearing his jeans and nothing else. "Dad . . . " he whispered, as he moved towards the room where he'd been killed. As he did, he picked up his revolver, which had been dropped nearby, and pushed the door open. When he saw his father lying there motionless with a huge puddle of blood surrounding his person, his lips quivered and he dropped to his knees. "Dad . . . " he called, this time gently, as he started crawling towards him until he was at the edge of the puddle, gazing with tears in his eyes. "Dad . . . I'm sor . . . " before he could finish, he started sobbing. Those bloody hands rose to cover his mouth and when it slowly started to register how unprepared he had been for this, the emotions he felt became compelling. From sadness to anger, and then back, then helplnessness, vulnerability, and worthlessness. He'd always been used to the idea that people in the post war world died all the time, but it had never been someone he cared for so deeply. The idea that his father had just become another one of the many people that was casually murdered by . . . raiders . . . was so unreal. It simply couldn't be that this had happened. An hour went by and he'd stopped tearing. Instead, he was just slumped forward on his knees, staring at the grain of the wood on the floor, and from one moment to the next, he stood up and started heading towards the door.

As he trudged through the wasteland towards the town, he idly loaded bullets into the cylinder of his revolver, not bothering to even look around. His eyes were set on one thing, and that was the town, and he didn't care that there might be radscorpions nearby. When he arrived, twilight was over, and darkness was settling over the sky. He'd been out for a while and when he entered the city limits, he continued on trudging towards the Sheriff's office. Maggy was sitting in front of the window of her room, staring at the sky like she always did when it was night time when she heard a sound. It sounded like something was dragging itself along, and when she looked down towards ground level, she watched as Remy paced into her field of vision. He was . . . bloody. There was a lot on his chest trailing down to his stomach, and there were red hand prints on his cheeks. His jeans were stained and there was a haunting absence in his eyes, like they were set on something that wasn't there. The fact that he was carrying his revolver loosely in his hand didn't make him look any less terrifying. She had half the mind to scream for someone but she found that she was too terrified to do so, imagining that he might turn and shoot at her if she did, so instead, she let him go by without missing a detail until when he was gone, she stood up and left. "Mom," she called firmly, stepping out of her room, which was settled atop her mother's general store, and moved towards the door beside her own. "Mom," she called again, trying to be loud as quietly as possible.

When Rem reached the sheriff's office, he stopped, staring straight down to the floor when the light came back to his eyes. He took two side glances as if to verify where he was and then he turned to look at the door, and then the doorknob, which he reached for. His bloody fingers wrapped around it and subsequently turned it, slowly. It was open, like the Sheriff's office always should be, and he weakly pushed it ajar and held up the revolver. Wesley was right there. Right in front of him, glancing down at some papers that he had on his desk, foolishly unaware of who it was. "I'll be right with you," he even said. It would have been funny if it weren't for the pain, which was still whorling and twisting tempestuously within him. "Take yer time . . . " Rem managed to respond. Wesley's chest tightened when he heard the voice and he quickly turned his eyes up at the door, going speechless in horror for a few seconds until something finally came out. "You . . . Martha . . . " Rem stared at him, pointing the revolver right between his eyes, and then he started shaking his head, "Fuckin' pig." Again, tears welled up in his eyelids and came out in a dramatic flood as he continued shaking his head. "Wait a minute," Wesley began, holding his hands up. "We can - " bang. The recoil kicked Rem's hand upwards but at the same time, Wesley's head jerked back. Blood splattered nastily against the wood of his establishment and the stains were joined by bone and brain fragments. All the while, Rem stood there with both hands laying lax at his sides now, still shaking his head, crying all the same, regretting _everything. _

_That's it_, he thought, _it's over._ He was ruminating, more deeply than he ever had in his life. _I got ya, fucker. I made ya pay for what ya did to my father. _A pang of nonfulfillment struck him but he continued. _Yer dead. Ya paid the price. _He couldn't stop trying to reassure himself that everything had been rectified but all he could think about was what his father had said just last night. This man was such a worthless human being that the fact that he was dead didn't matter at all. He'd never make up for the hole that Rem's father left behind in death. Rem gritted his teeth out of frustration that he couldn't make things square and he stepped further inside, eventually aligning the gun with Wesley's head again. "Ain't done yet . . . " he said, with a shaky voice as he cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. Another bullet ravaged Wesley's cranium and again, he cocked the gun before firing another shot. Each time, it felt good, but only for a brief moment. Each time one of those bullets blasted its way into Wesley's skull, splattering blood all over the place, it felt like he was causing him _some _kind of pain. Maybe not pain, but he was causing him _something,_ and that was satisfying up until he used up his sixth bullet. When he pulled the trigger, all he heard was a snap and nothing more. By then, Wesley's head was an incoherent, bloody mess on the floor. "Dad . . . I got him," he said with a shaky voice. Then, he could have sworn he heard his father speak. _Yes, son, but that ain't gonna bring me back, ain't it. _Afterdropping the gun, he reached up to the sides of his head and pulled hard on his hair.

"Oh my god . . . " he heard. As he turned to look at the door, he saw a woman there. The one who'd been grieving when Brenda was killed. "Oh my God . . . " she covered her mouth with her hands when she looked at Rem's chest, and all the blood. The look in his eye as he looked at her terrified her. A mixture of fear, sadness, and hatred all rolled into one. That was the look psychotic people had before they snapped. Then she saw why there had been more than one gun shot. The boy had shot Wesley in the head six times, even after he'd been dead. While she wallowed in fear, someone yelled from a distance, "Gladis, what's going on!" The woman backed away, "It's the damn devil . . . " she whispered, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe it. Rem watched as she removed herself and the next face he saw was a man who came to stand in the door frame, one he recognized. Michael, Jasmine's son. When he looked inside, Rem saw the very same fear he'd seen in Gladis, but his face quickly contorted with conviction. "What the Hell did you do!" He also noticed why there had been six shots fired. Another one arrived, this one a woman, and then Maggy arrived, standing behind that very same woman as if she was hiding. Maggy's mother was named Barbara. "Oh my God . . . he killed Wesley?" he heard her ask. Another one, saying something about God. "Please . . . " he spoke, "I didn't." Then, he started walking towards them and immediately, the man yelled, "Don't come any closer! Stay right there!_" _Rem shook his head, "I didn't . . . " he began, "SHUT UP!" The man cut him off. Barbara watched with her hands covering her mouth while Maggy herself watched from behind, without expression aside from curiosity. This was the first time she'd ever been around a dead person or a murderer. Her mother hadn't registered yet that she didn't listen when she told her not to come out of the house.

After being deflected enough times, Rem mustered up the energy to say something thorough and loud. "The Sheriff killed my dad! He . . . he helped the raiders!" Immediately, the man went silent, staring incredulously. Rem could barely speak through the sobs but he tried anyway, "He . . . he killed my father." Then, he dropped onto his knees and covered his face. "That fuckin' pig killed my father!" Maggy's mother listened in horror and Michael just stood there, still incredulous. "Oh my . . . " Maggy's mother paused this time, not letting herself say the entire thing. It was like something snapped into place in her. Probably a mother's instincts. "Damn it, Michael, get Fina, this boy needs to see a doctor!" For some reason, she believed him. She couldn't imagine that he could be manipulative enough to make something like that up. Michael looked at her, eyes still showing his surprise, and finally, he turned around and started rushing away. Maggy watched from the doorway while her mother approached Rem. She had no idea what to say to him. She wanted to tell him that it was alright now, but it wasn't. She wanted to tell him that he'd be okay, but how would she know? Instead, she spoke just to speak, "Come on, we need to get you to a doctor. You can get some sleep after you're all cleaned up and you can tell us everything that happened." Once she was right in front of him, she knelt down and reached to touch his shoulder, hesitating when she realized there was blood there. Instead, she touched his back as her eyes perused him for details. He looked so fragile. "Come on," she urged, and Rem nodded before he started to stand up. "Let's go outside. I don't think you should stay here." Rem didn't say anything but he walked while she assessed him. Something had happened to his torso. She had seen the lacerations from which the blood was sourcing. When they were outside, a group of townies approached, a few of them armed. "What happened?" asked a particular man, who was wearing overalls and carrying a shotgun.

Barbara gave them an answer that was as concise as possible, "Wesley was with the raiders. They killed the Ranger and . . . he," she gestured at Rem, "killed Wesley." Jasmine was among the ones who had arrived, "Oh no . . . " She stepped forth past everyone else and looked down at him, her eyes bleeding compassion. "You poor boy," she soothed. She wanted to reach out and touch him but she hesitated, looking down towards his stomach and his chest, which had been pierced multiple times. The sight brought tears to her eyes. For a single moment she mourned him but then she snapped out of it, yelling out at the rest of them. "Well? Where's Fina! Someone get Fina! This boy needs attention!" Barbara responded, "Michael went to get her." Jasmine glanced at Barbara and then back down at Rem, who wasn't looking anywhere but the ground, "Don't worry, we're going to help you as much as we can." Honestly, when Rem heard that, it was a huge relief. With his dad gone he was feeling so very alone. They looked like they were waiting for a response and after a few moments of silence, they got one, "Thank you ma'am." The discipline with which he spoke made Jasmine feel so sorry for him. He didn't deserve this. One of the men stepped up and put a jacket over him. This one was Brandon. Rem glanced up at him, grabbing the coat tightly around him as he did, "Thank you, sir." Thereafter, Jasmine put her hand on his back and started leading him towards Fina's.

Halfway there, he saw a woman approaching along with Michael. She seemed calm at first but when she laid eyes on Rem, her face gradually showed concern. She quickened her pace until she was lightly jogging, and she stopped right in front of him. "Where are you bleeding?" Jasmine responded, "His chest. Stomach, that whole area." Rem didn't say anything. "Let me see," said Fina, and Rem reluctantly opened the jacket. When she laid eyes on it, her eyebrows contorted and her eyes became intense, "God . . . the raiders?" Rem closed the jacket. At the time, Rem was definitely hurt, but the physical injuries weren't bothering him as much as these people seemed to think. Why hadn't anyone said anything about his father? He was the one who was dead. "Yes, the raiders. Wesley was friends with them. He killed the Ranger and almost did the same with him." "Oh god, Wesley? Really?" Fina answered, clearly finding it hard to believe. "Yes." Jasmine seemed to be taking care of the explanations while some of the townies stood by. Most of them had followed along, but one of them in particular had seen enough. "Brandon, Joey," said Michael. Joey was in the overalls, and looked like a rancher. When the two turned to look at him, he continued, "Let's go clean up Wesley's mess. Let the rest of them take care of this." Joey and Brandon started walking away with Michael, and they left Jasmine, Barbara, Maggy, and Fina behind with Rem. "Come," said Fina, and she started leading him along with the rest of the women in tow.

As they walked through the town towards the doctor's office, they were all silent. Fina especially was just still a little shocked, even though she knew those lacerations were no big deal. Maybe it was because she had never expected this from Wesley. Jasmine and the rest just didn't know what to say. When they arrived, Fina pushed the door open and stepped inside with Rem, leaving the rest to come in through the door. Her house was like all the other houses in the town. It was made out of wood, which was clearly withering, but it somehow managed to stay erect. It almost seemed dusty in there, too, but when they stepped into the room where she worked on her patients, it was clean. The smell of sterile equipment was undeniable and somehow . . . unbearable to Rem. This was the place he least wanted to be right now. Fina turned to the rest of the women and held her hand up to stop them, "You're all going to have to wait outside." Jasmine seemed uneasy with the decision, and though she thought it was pretty foolish, or maybe even naive, to suddenly feel like Rem was her son, she couldn't help it. "But . . . " Fina released a breath and slowly blinked, as if she was irritated, "He'll be fine, Jasmine. Those lacerations aren't lethal. We just need to clean them up and close them. I also need to check for other symptoms." The expression that appeared in Jasmine's and Barbara's faces just then indicated they understood what she was saying. She had to check if he'd been abused sexually. "Okay," answered Jasmine, and started to step out. Barbara followed and when she went through the door's threshold, she saw Maggy in her periphery, up against the wall outside. "Maggy, go home." The door closed.

"Take a seat right here," Fina said, with the softest voice she could muster. Fina was actually an attractive woman. Young, too, in her early twenties, likely. She was short, though, with brown hair that was tied into a messy bun on the back of her head. She wore glasses with black plastic frames, too, which fit her nicely along with her dirty, bloody white coat. "Sure thang," she heard, as Rem moved to sit where she'd ordered. At the same time, he removed the black jacket. She glanced at his chest for a few moments and she only stopped when Rem looked up at her, looking like he was wondering what she was doing. She took her eyes away from him and breathed out, "Alright." She composed herself and began, "I'm going to check your injuries. Is that alright?" Rem just nodded. She probably wasn't all too experienced with this, given she had to take a moment to compose herself.

She was sitting in front of him now and she was occasionally dabbing at his wounds with a wet towel, wiping away blood and uncovering everything. There were four lacerations on his stomach and three on his chest. Two of the ones that were included on his upper body were on the nipples. "Did they do it while . . . " Rem shook his head, "No, I was asleep. It was jus' one of 'em. A girl." Fina answered, "Alright. Well," she dabbed at his chest again, having cleaned most of the blood off. "We're going to have to stitch these up and clean them." Rem nodded slowly, "Whiskey?" She shook her head fervently at him, apalled, "Oh lord no. Something a little less painful." Rem looked away, frowning, and then he spoke. "Doc, can I ask ya a favor?" Fina nodded to his frail question, trying to assure him that he could ask for anything. "Can ya . . . can ya _please _put me under? I know I'm a boy an' all, and I ain't s'posed to be scared o' nuthin', but I wanna sleep. I don't think I - " she cut him off, "Sure. I'll put you to sleep." How could she have refused? "Thanks, ma'am." When he answered, she stood up to go and prepare the anesthesia, figuring it'd be easier to prod around for signs of sexual abuse while he was asleep anyway.

When he laid back onto the gurney and looked up at the light on the ceiling, he finally got a sense of finality. Fina was going to put him to sleep and just like that, the day would be over. It was strangely comforting, actually. He didn't remember a time, ever, when he'd been so ready to just sleep. When Fina arrived with her injection, he didn't even look at her, and that didn't change even while she rubbed alcohol where she was going to inject him. "You ready?" she asked. "He responded with a slow nod and then spoke, "Can't wait." Fina didn't know what to say to that so she just got on with it. The needle slipped into his skin and he was surprised with how he could easily handle the pain that came from it. As the liquid flooded his bloodstream, he wondered why. It certainly wasn't because Martha had skewered his stomach and chest with thicker objects, no. It was because sleep was such a sweet prospect. "God damn, lady. I never been so sleepy in mah life." He felt his eyes start to close and the last thing he thought was . . . _Night, dad. _Fina watched his head tilt to the side as his eyes closed at the same exact time, and pulled the syringe out. The way he was asleep somehow brought comfort to her, too.

"I never saw it coming from Wesley, to be honest," said Michael as he and Brandon hoisted the body up and dropped it on a blanket. Joey was in the process of bringing in a mop to clean all the blood away. After all, their next sheriff, if there was one eventually, would be using this same office, and it needed to be clean. "Shit, I think nobody saw it comin'," Joey remarked, with an accent that resembled the Rems'. "No use thinkin' 'bout it now though. The bastard's dead, and that's that." As Brandon turned Wesley's body in the blanket, wrapping him, he responded, "True. Still though, I can't help but think about all this. It's pretty shitty, and damn, the Ranger's dead." Joey pulled the mop out of the water bucket and dropped it on the floor, responding as he started to sweep, "Chyeah, what a crock. I thought them guys was indestructible." Michael remarked as he and Brandon carried the baggage out of the room, "You have to mind that Wesley probably blindsided the guy. He never saw it coming." Brandon added, "Besides, the kid paid back the favor in full." Joey shrugged and continued swiping the mop side to side, shaking his head, "I suppose." Wesley's body was idly tossed onto the floor, where it bounced and rolled until it came to a stop, and the two men went back into the office patting their hands against one another.

"Say, reckon we go take a look?" Michael nodded, "We're going to have to. Nobody else is going to clean that mess and I really don't want to have to worry about the fucking smell." Brandon grabbed another mop and began helping Joey while Michael went out and got more buckets. It didn't take more than fifteen minutes for most of it to be cleaned off but regardless, in the end, there was a thick stain in the wood of the floor. "That'll have to do, I reckon," Joey said as he set the mop down and used it to prop himself up. Brandon nodded, "Yup, let's go. We'll have to bring the mops, and Wesley." On their way to the home in the outskirts of town, they were all armed, and they were also dragging Wesley along with the strength of the three of them. Brandon had picked up Wesley's AK-47, Joey had his trusty shotgun, and Michael carried a 9mm pistol, which had been dropped by one of the raiders that attacked the Ranger at the office. "Hey, I just realized something. I was wondering how those raiders snuck up on the Ranger in the office." Joey answered for him before he finished, "Wesley." "Yup," said Michael, and added, "Bastard. Took 'em two tries, though." That was about when they arrived at the house. Joey reached out and pushed the door open. When he did, he saw Clipper on the floor near the door, and another raider, this one hispanic, on the floor near the kitchen. "Shit. Where's the Ranger?" asked Joey, as the three of them stepped inside, leaving Wesley's corpse behind.

"I found him," said Michael, just as the other two came up behind him and peered into the room. The Ranger's body was on the floor, resting on a puddle of blood, and his face wasn't recognizable in all the gore. "Gosh, total facial reconstruction," Joey commented. "I'll say," Brandon concured as he stepped inside, "What are we going to do with the bodies?" Michael followed him in and answered, "Well, the raiders, we'll burn them. As for the Ranger, I suppose we'll let the kid decide what the hell he wants to do." Brandon turned away, nodding his head and Joey spoke, "I'll go take a look at the other room." He left while Brandon and Michael stayed behind to clean up the Ranger's body. Somehow, that seemed like the first order of duty. "Hey guys! Come take a look at this!" Brandon and Michael turned to the door and went to where Joey's voice was sourcing from. They went into the room and Joey was pointing at the woman on the bed, bleeding out of her neck, with a pair of curvaceous ass cheeks out for everyone to see. "Nice piece of ass, don't ya'll think?" He walked up and turned her over, grimacing when he saw all the piercings. Brandon spoke this time, "Take away all of the deranged, psychotic bullshit off of her and I guess I can agree." Joey chuckled, "Think she fucked him?" Michael shrugged, "Probably." Joey continued laughing, "Least he got somethin' out of it." Brandon and Michael weren't insulted with how vulgar Joey was being, probably because none of the three were well acquainted with Rem, so they just went along with their business. "Take a look at this," Brandon said, kicking around some of the barbells on the floor. "The kid probably took them off." Joey cringed, "Eesh, musta been bad." Michael tilted his head and shrugged, "Alright, let's get this over with." With that, they went on about the cleaning process.

Barbara and Jasmine were waiting in Fina's living room when she came out nearly an hour later. She was taking off a pair of gloves and she had a relatively stoic look on her face. "It was a woman who did this to him. No anal abuse," she said casually, as she went into the kitchen and disposed of the gloves. Jasmine and Barbara stood up, following her into the kitchen, listening. Jasmine seemed to have a question that she was hesitant to ask, but she did eventually, "Any way of telling whether or not she had, you know, conventional sex with him?" Fina shrugged. She hadn't commented on that because, quite frankly, and this could be chalked up to her level of inexperience, she didn't think conventional sex would have been much of a concern, and because of that, she felt Jasmine was being dramatic. She answered anyway, "Doesn't . . . smell like it. You know?" she seemed embarassed to answer the question, but she had to, after all, since she was a doctor. "When I inspected him, I didn't smell anything like vaginal moisture." "Thank god," said Jasmine, releasing a breath of relief. Barbara crossed her arms over her belly, "Still, he was tortured." Fina shook her head once she was done washing her hands, "No. He was asleep when she did that to him." She pressed her back up against the counter, glancing at the other two women. Jasmine was the oldest, looked to be around fifty, and she was a little round. Her red hair and her green eyes were mirrored on Michael. Barbara had long black hair just like her daughter did, and dark brown eyes, too. "He's asleep right now, by the way. He asked me if I could put him under while I cleaned up the wounds and stitched him up." After she spoke, the three woman paused, not looking at each other. They were all just ruminating. Jasmine eventually broke the silence, "How long is he going to be asleep?" Fina answered, "Well, I pumped him with enough stuff to keep him asleep for a while. He sounded like he wanted to sleep for a long time, so I did him the favor. I doubt he'll wake up when the drugs wear off, however." Jasmine frowned, "Shouldn't have just drugged him like that, if you ask me. He can get addicted." Fina grimaced, "I know what I'm doing." Jasmine gave her a face that screamed disapproval, "Right," and turned to leave. Barbara watched her go while Fina looked away, uncaring.

When the door closed, Fina muttered, "Self righteous bitch." Barbara couldn't help but chuckle at that. Although she didn't find the animosity between Fina and Jasmine important enough to address, she had to figure that Jasmine was just the caring type, especially when it came to children, and in this particular instance, she let her desire to help coerce her into carelessly insulting the doctor. "I know you can take care of everything but I'll be back in the morning." Fina glanced at Barbara, nodding, seemingly unperturbed by the way Barbara offered herself up to help. "Sure thing. He'll definitely need some company when he wakes. When I was a kid a friend of mine lost her parents. She needed a lot of attention." Just then, Barbara's eyes went small as a subtle pang of sadness struck her, and she turned away, knowing full well, first hand actually, what it was like. "Alright. See you soon." As Barbara stepped out of the house, Fina leaned off the counter and headed towards where Rem was sleeping and pushed the door open. There were bandages all around his torso. She had given him a stimpak so those wounds wouldn't need the stitches for as long as a patient normally would. She supposed she'd even have them off before he awoke. Not bad, she had to think. The boy needed a break.

When Barbara arrived at her home, first thing she did was check on Maggy. She pushed the door open and all she saw was a lump in bed. Thinking she was asleep, she closed the door, and Maggy slowly sat up. The light in her eyes was bright. Clearly, she hadn't slept a wink. How could she? This was the first time in her life she'd ever been this . . . involved. Well, she definitely hadn't been too involved, but having been the first person to see Rem walking down the street towards what was later revealed to be the sheriff's office, she somehow felt involved. Like she had been the first on the scene . . . or something. She got out of bed and stood outside the window, glancing out into her town. It looked the same as it always did. It wasn't as dark as it could have been because the moon shone brightly in the sky, and only two inhabited establishments in the town were lit. Jasmine's shop, which was different from theirs in the sense that she specialized in weapons. There was also light in Fina's house, where Remy was. She wondered if he was asleep or if he was awake.


	4. Always be there

**Mojave Wasteland**

**September 6th 7:23 AM**

**2264**

The depth of the sleep he experienced was comparable to the sleep Martha had put him through. There was just nothing there at all. Just blankness, without thoughts or dreams, nothing, until bits and pieces of his consciousness started returning to him, carrying memories of the day before. First the death of his father, then the wounds on his chest and stomach, and then what had happened after. He remembered shooting Wesley in the head and then he remembered being taken to Fina's house. That's when his eyes opened, revealing the room to him. There was light seeping through the blinds like sand through the openings in someone's fingers. It was day time, and it was also chilly, meaning it was still morning. He breathed out, sat up, and threw the blankets off of him, looking down at his body after he did. There were bandages there but the fact that there wasn't as much pain as there had been the day before made it clear Fina had used a stimpak, which gave him a sense of appreciation.

When he stood up and out of bed, he was wearing nothing but a pair of clean boxers. Somehow, despite his somber mood, he managed to feel embarrassed at the idea that Fina had seen him naked. It couldn't be helped, though, after all, so he set the feeling aside. His legs sloppily carried him towards the window, trying to shake the sleep disorientation, and he pushed the vertical blinds aside to look outside. He saw the town and then he saw two men walking along. Joey and Brandon, who each noticed him and stopped to say something, "Yer awake already, kid?" Rem nodded to Joey, throwing a quick glance down at his overalls and then back at his face, concluding that it looked pretty silly. Brandon spoke afterwards, "How are you feeling?" Rem nodded assuredly, "The wounds don't hurt as much anymore. Fina used a stimpak." Joey nodded, "Yup, Fina's a darlin'. She dun fixed us all up at some point or another. Thought I'd let ya know," he began, when Brandon cut him off. "Wait a little." Rem stared at the both of them curiously but he didn't care enough to ask. Brandon spoke, "We'll see you soon, kid. We have some stuff to talk about." Rem pressed his lips together and nodded to them, leaning on the window sill, and he watched them walk away.

He continued watching the town, taking note of all the little things he hadn't noticed before, and then the door opened. When he turned to see who it was, he saw Fina. "Oh, you're up." Rem turned away from the window entirely, "Yes. Thanks ma'am, that stimpak fixed me up real good." He sounded weak, and it wasn't because of any physical ailment. "Of course," she answered, stepping in. A moment later, Barbara stepped in followed by Jasmine. Immediately, Rem felt smothered. "Mornin' everyone," he said, not forgetting the manners he'd been taught by his parents, "Thank ya'll fer what ya did fer me last night." All of them heard the lack of enthusiasm. Jasmine answered, "Of course, sweetie. You must be hungry." The idea of eating settled wrong in his stomach. It actually made him want to throw up, "Uh, no thanks, ma'am. Eatin's the last thing I'm wantin' to do right now." None of the three looked too comfortable to hear it. All of them wanted to say something but Fina felt she should be the first one, "You have to eat something." Rem ignored it and asked, "Where are mah pants?" Fina crossed her arms under her breasts, "Threw them away. They were too bloody." Barbara interjected before Rem got could get annoyed at the idea that he wouldn't have any clothes, "Hector's boy probably had something that fits." Jasmine nodded as she put her hands on her hips, "Yeah, he would. They look like they were about the same size. I'll go get something." She headed out, leaving him with just Fina and Barbara as he took a seat on one of the chairs beside the gurney. "Anyway, like I said, you have to eat something." Rem shook his head, reaching up to his face and rubbing at his eyes, trying to keep his frustration at their persistence under control. "Can I drink somethin' instead?" Fina frowned, "Well . . . " Rem cut her off, "I promise I'll ask ya to eat somethin' if ya jus' lemme drink somethin' fer now." Though she wasn't entirely pleased with his answer, she felt she couldn't do better. Besides, pressuring him to do something he didn't want to do yet likely wasn't a good idea. "Fine." She headed out into her kitchen, leaving Barbara alone with him this time.

As she stood there with him, she was wondering what to say. She thought to ask him how far away Ranger Center was but didn't want to trouble him to make him think about things he didn't need to think about yet. She also thought to say sorry about his father but right now, he looked okay. He looked like he was emotionally under control and she didn't want to do anything to break that. When she couldn't find anything, she just spoke to speak again, like the first time. "No pain?" Rem glanced at her and just then, it hit her how stupid a question that had been. "No ma'am," he responded, courteously. "Thanks for askin'." There was another pause and by then, she was just starting to feel so powerless. When Fina finally walked in with a nuka cola, she felt a huge weight lifting off her chest. "Here you go." Rem reached out and took the soda, sipping on some of it afterwards. "Thanks ma'am." As he continued drinking, Fina added, "Jasmine will be in with clothes for you to wear soon." Rem nodded as he drank another reluctant sip. There was even more silence after, which was becoming uncomfortably customary at this point, and then he finally spoke to break it, "Can ya'll do me a faver?" When he asked, he sounded sincere. It was the same way he'd asked Fina to put him to sleep. "Yes, of course," said Fina. Rem drank again and began, "I don' mean to be rude, miss, but . . . can ya'll leave me alone fer a bit? I know ya'll been nothin' but nice to me, an' I appreciate it, but I . . . " Fina answered gently, "Sure. I have an empty room. You can go there." Rem stood up slowly, "Thank you, miss." When he walked towards the door, Fina stepped out and led him to the guest room. He went inside and glanced back at her, "Sorry ma'am." He looked genuinely guilty, so she closed her eyes and shook her head, "Don't be sorry." She said it softly to make sure he could see she wasn't insulted by it and walked away as Rem closed the door.

When she reached the living room, Barbara was sitting on a couch. "I actually think . . . he's not doing so bad," Barbara commented. Fina sat down on the same couch and responded, "He's doing horribly. Can't you tell? The way he talks." Barbara shook her head, "He's not showing any signs of feeling, I don't know, violated. No signs of being bothered by what that raider did to him." Fina still didn't sound convinced, "Yeah, but you can tell he's devastated by what happened to his father." Barbara continued anyway, "Yeah, and I'm glad that's _all_ that's bothering him. After all, it could have been that _and _it could have been that he was traumatized over being . . . decorated the way he was." The way she put it made her cringe, half disappointed with herself, and to get away from that sensation she had, she continued talking. "They were piercings, right?" Fina nodded, "Must've been." They heard a masculine voice from out of nowhere, "It was." Both the women's shoulders jumped, and Fina yelled, "Fuck, Michael! You could have told us you were here. Who the hell let you in?" Michael held his hands up, "Sorry. Door was open." Barbara furthered the conversation along, "How do you know?" Michael sat down on the couch beside Barbara, "Joey, Brandon and myself went to the house to do some clean up. We found who did it. Was a girl, right?" Fina responded, "Yes." Michael nodded deeply a few times, "Yup, we found her and her little toys. Bunch of hooks and barbells. He killed her with a scalpel. Stabbed her in the neck while they were in bed. At least, that's what it looks like." Both the women looked pensive, and Jasmine stepped in. "Hey mom," Michael said, turning his head to her as the door closed. She had a bag of clothes in her hand. When Jasmine started heading towards the room where Rem had been, Fina spoke, "Leave the bag on the table, Jasmine. He wanted to be alone for a while." Jasmine paused for a moment and glanced at all three of them, looking confused, "O . . . okay. Can't I just drop these off?" Fina rolled her eyes to the side subtly, "No. Just leave the kid alone." After she responded that way the irritation built up and leaked out even more, "Stop acting like you know what's best." Jasmine's eyebrows furrowed, "Excuse me? Mind your business, missy. I'm just trying to help." Fina didn't miss a beat when she answered, "But you're not helping, that's the thing." Jasmine's eyebrows contorted in anger and just when it looked like she was going to say something, she digressed and put the clothes on the table, "Fine." After that, she left. Michael didn't say a thing and neither did Barbara.

While Rem sat there on the bed with a half empty nuka cola in hand, his eyes started watering. "Damn it," he cursed under his breath with a shaky voice as he reached up and wiped tears out of his eyes before they could stream down his cheeks. When he'd woken up, it'd been pretty easy to not be emotional, but who was he kidding? No matter how numb he tried to be, he kept seeing the images of his father staring calmly at those two shotgun barrels, waiting for it to happen. Then he saw images of the shotgun firing, busting his cranium open into a disgusting mess that he just couldn't scrape off the canvas of his brain. "_God _damn it dad . . . why'd this have to happen to yew?" he asked, still whispering to himself. His body bounced like he was laughing but with those tears rolling down his cheeks despite his efforts, it was clear he wasn't amused. In fact, he was in pain. In an incessant, merciless pain that was gnawing on his heart. "I'm so sorry, Dad," he began, shaking his head, "Maybe if I wasn't caught . . . " The idea that this had all been his fault made it worse. "God damn it dad, why?" he asked again.

"What did you do with the bodies?" asked Fina. Michael took a sip of his Sunset Sarsaparilla and answered, "Burned the raiders. As for the Ranger, we took off his armor, cleaned it up, and wrapped him in a blanket for the kid to decide. I thought we should be asking him soon enough what he wants to do, before it starts to . . . you know." "Yeah," said Barbara. "We can ask him when he comes out." Fina sat by, listening to the conversation in silence when suddenly, she heard glass shattering. Everyone turned their heads to the direction and when they realized it came from Rem's room, the two women stood up and began rushing away. Michael stood up and followed them, "The hell was that?" Neither of the women said anything and when Fina pushed the door open, they all saw him on the floor, grabbing at the sides of his head, pulling his hair. The distress that shone so brilliantly in his eyes was vivid. "Remy!" Barbara yelled, having been told by her daughter what his name was. Rem just shook his head as he let go of his hair, "Why did this have to happen!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. Fina and Michael just stayed unmoving, completely silenced. "Those fuckin' raider assholes _killed my father! _I'll kill them all! I swear to gawd from now on I'll kill every one of those basterds I see!" As he finished, he slammed his hands on the floor. Barbara began approaching further and the others didn't move until she started getting closer. "Remy, it's okay!" Rem turned to her and yelled at the top of his lungs, "No, it's not okay!" He stood up, his eyes fierce and his cheeks soaked with tears. "My dad's dead! He's _dead!_ Don't you understand what that means? I'll never see him again! I'll never hear his voice again! Mom will never see him, _ever! _He's gone forever and I jus' . . . I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do!" As he spoke, he whipped his hand to the side in finality. "He's gone . . . " he uttered, weakly this time, as Barbara approached. "I know he's gone, Remy, but he'll never be gone in spirit." Rem sobbed, wiping tears away from his eyes. "As long as you never forget him, as long as you wonder what your father would do when things get difficult and always keep in mind that he'd never want you to do something harmful for yourself, he'll always be there." Her words resembled the ones his father had spoken and when he realized that, he just caved. He started crying loudly, letting it all flow out of him like a wound that was bleeding profusely, and as he did, he felt a pair of arms wrapping around him. They felt like his mother's, so much so that they compelled him to hug back. He threw his arms around Maggy's mother and hugged tightly. Against her, he shook his head, trying to deny everything, "Maybe if I I'da stayed outta trouble this wouldn'ta happened." He felt her caressing the back of his head, "It's not your fault, Remy. Your dad knows it wasn't, too. Trust me."

Fina and Michael each watched from a distance, both of them just locked up, taking everything they could take from the scene until Rem was crying into Barbara's chest. Michael shook his head, "Tch," he breathed in irritation. "Wesley really fucked things up." When Fina heard that, she felt a pang of regret. Sadness, actually. And it wasn't entirely because of Rem. Nobody knew that she and Wesley had been on their way to having a relationship together. "Yeah . . . " she responded, weakly. It wasn't until then that the fact that Wesley was dead started to get to get to her. While she began to secretly mourn, Michael added with more passion, "The son of a bitch deserved all six bullets the kid put in his skull." Again, Fina felt a pang of emotion towards the way Wesley was being treated, this time with more intensity. How could Wesley have been the cause of all this? She knew him better than any of these idiots. He couldn't have been responsible. "Are you guys even sure Wesley did this?" When the question was posed, it was like it had been singled out and that was the only thing that reverberated in Rem's ears. He pulled away from Barbara immediately and yelled, "That fuckin' pathetic sack o' _shit _killed my father! I saw him do it with my own two eyes! He pointed a shotgun at his face and blew his head to smithereens!" Barbara put her hands on his shoulders while Fina's heart dropped with every word. "An' then he left me with his fuckin' bimbo so she could do _this _to me," he patted his chest harshly, not caring about the pain it caused. "So yes, we're fuckin' _certain _that son of a bitch did all this!" Barbara tried to calm him, "Remy, she just . . . " Rem cut her off assertively, "That fuckin' pig killed my father in cold blood, and I did the same tah him, an' I feel _damn _good about it," his lips quivered. As Fina listened, she wavered emotionally, all because of the fervence in the boy's voice. "I'm not sayin' Wesley's pathetic corpse is makin' up for my father's death. Wesley couldn't make up for his death even if I'da killed him ten times over. But he _is _dead, and he's gone wit' six well deserved three fifty sevens in his head." When Fina broke, it was silent, and it only manifested in a bit of moisture in her eyelids. Before they could see her cry, she turned around and started walking out the door. Michael watched her go, wondering what was wrong with her. "Fina!" he called, and Barbara cut him off before he could follow. "Let her go, Michael. She looks like she needs some time to herself." Rem paced towards the bottle of nuka cola he'd thrown against the wall and started gathering the shards all up with the edge of a piece of cardboard he'd found.

Michael turned to Barbara, "Think they . . . " Barbara knew exactly what he was asking, "More than likely." Michael breathed out and regretted, "Shit." He shook his head as Barbara began talking again, "Get Rem's clothes, a broom and a dust pan." Michael headed out the door and Barbara turned to face Rem. He was sniffling. "Don't cut yourself now. Wait for Michael to come back with the broom." Rem wiped tears out of his eyes and obeyed, standing up and turning to face her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Mah dad taught me bettah than to yell at people who done nuthin' but help me." Barbara shook her head, "It's alright. If he were still around, he'd tell you that emotions get the best of us can say sorry to her later though." He nodded weakly, acknowledging that he should, and then he thought about what she said. He realized that his father _would _still be there, in essence, as long as he wondered what he would do every time he had a complex question to ask. "Mhm," he added, as Michael came in and handed him a bag. Rem took it and Michael spoke, "We also got your shoes." Rem took his shoes he looked up at Michael, "Thanks. Ya went back there?" Michael nodded, "Yeah. We cleaned up the bodies." Rem set his hands lax to his sides, "What'd ya do wit' mah dad?" Michael was glad Rem was asking the question instead of him bringing everything up. "We took the armor off and cleaned out the blood. Then we wrapped him in a blanket so you can decide what you want to do. As for the raiders, we burned them. Wesley, too." Hearing that felt a lot better. That actually would have been what he'd have done. "Thank yew sir, I really appreciate that." Michael nodded, "Sure thing. So, what are you going to do?" It felt odd asking a fourteen year old that question. Rem opened the bag and pulled out a pair of black jeans, "I'm gonna bury him tonight." Michael nodded, a little surprised with how assertive the boy sounded, "We have a graveyard. You can lay him to rest there." Rem felt his emotions welling up again. His eyes teared up but he stiffened his lips, pushing it back to where it came from, "Yeah." After the jeans were on, he slipped on a belt and then threw on a white t shirt, and then his shoes followed, with a pair of clean white socks.

Once everything was on, Michael spoke again, "So tonight, huh. Alright. This town owes your father and you a favor for getting rid of the raiders, so I'll make sure everyone comes to see it. Joey and myself can dig the grave." Rem finished tying his shoes and looked up at Michael, "I think I should dig the grave. . ." "Alright," Michael responded, "We'll do it that way. Do you want to dig the grave now and have the funeral at night? Or . . . " Rem nodded, "Yeah, let's dig now and have the funeral later." Michael responded, "Alrighty. Come on, let's go." Rem turned and began following but before he left, he turned around and glanced at Barbara, who was cleaning up the glass with the broom and dust pan. "Thanks ma'am." Barbara turned to him and smiled gently, "No problem." With that, Rem headed off and as he walked through the town, a few of the people there glanced at him. There were some there he hadn't seen before. The town was fairly large but a lot of the establishments weren't inhabited, and aside from that, not everyone was the type to come out to see what was going on. They only got involved when they had to. The way they looked at him, however, made him see that word had gotten around.

They passed by Michael's house and Rem waited outside for him to come out with two shovels. When he took it into his hands and rested it against his shoulder, he was just out of it. He was walking, glancing at people here and there, but he wasn't all there. He was thinking about how he was about to dig a grave for his father. The emotions were still clawing at him but he kept trying to resist. Then he turned to Michael and spoke entirely for the purpose of getting his mind off of it, "How long has this town been around?" Michael responded without looking at him. He was more caught up with the people they saw on their way there, "Five years, but we've already had quite a number of people die, hence the graveyard. Barbara's husband settled this town with Joey and his family. Then me, mom, and dad came along, and others followed." Rem rubbed at his head as he spoke, "Ain't that long." Michael lowered the shovel and held it to his side, "Yup." A few minutes later, they rounded a corner and the graveyard was right there. It was a patch of dirt with a white, wooden fence surrounding it. There were nine crosses sticking up from nine mounds of dirt that were surrounded by small rocks. "Nine people in five years," Michael said, as he stepped into the patch of dirt and stuck the shovel down on the floor. Rem stopped beside him and took a deep breath. "Two of them were buried just yesterday. Hector and Brenda. His boy, Nathan, was killed two days before you and your dad got here." Rem stared at the crosses as Michael continued, "The Mojave is a cruel place." Rem silently concluded as he stepped along. He looked around for a moment and came upon a spot that he approved of for whatever reason, and began digging. Michael stepped up and began doing the same without asking any questions.

As the minutes passed, Michael watched how Rem worked mindlessly. Watching that absent look in his eyes as he shoveled dirt aside like he was on auto pilot brought back memories, and after a few minutes, he just stopped. As Rem continued, the sudden pause snapped him out of his trance and he glanced at Michael. Michael had pressed the shovel into the dirt and was reaching into his pocket, eventually procuring a pack of cigarettes. Rem went to continue but Michael's voice stopped him, "Hold on." The shovel dug into the dirt but he didn't drag the dirt out. Then he straightened out and, with his foot, pushed the shovel deep enough into the dirt to make it stay. "Wut is it?" Michael pulled out a lighter and lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag as his eyes went small. He looked up to the air and blew out smoke, and then he finally began. It was like he'd been trying to come up with a way to say this the whole time. "Is this the first time you've buried someone?" Rem nodded and did nothing other than stare up at him, wondering where he was going with this. "That sucks. First person you bury is your father." Rem breathed out, "Huh. Yeah. I don' need tah be told tah know that." Michael watched as Rem grabbed the shovel again and moved to work, but he cut him off again, "I buried my dad a few years ago, too." Rem paused again and looked up at the adult, staring at him with a different light in his eyes.

"I know _exactly _how you're feeling right about now." Rem breathed in deeply and sat down on the dirt after some seconds of thought, "Yeah. It's . . . god damn I can't believe I'm doin' this." Michael paced to his left and nodded, "Yeah, exactly. Never thought the day would come, right?" The boy nodded a few times as he grabbed a rock and rolled it aside, "Exactly." Michael added, "Worried about how mom will react." It was right on the money. Rem felt his heart get heavy and he reached up to his forehead, where he rubbed to try and relax himself. How would she react? "Truth is, you won't know that for a while. It took mom a long time to move along but I've been there with her every step of the way, and now, she's doing a lot better. I can see him in her sometimes, you know. Hell, I see him in me sometimes, too. You'll start noticing that eventually with your dad." He took in a deep drag and breathed out more smoke, "Another thing that takes a while is to be glad you did all the little things. Thinking back on it from my current stand point, I'm so proud I dug my dad's grave and laid him to rest myself." As he spoke, he took a glance at his father's grave. After he read the name on the cross he turned back to Rem, "Trust me, you'll be proud of yourself a year from now, and you'll realize your dad would have been proud, too. Now come on, let's finish this up so you can lay your daddy to rest." Rem glanced up at Michael. The words he'd spoken had actually been very reassuring, so he reached up and took the hand Michael had stretched out to him and stood up. "Thanks, sir." The adult responded, "Mike. Call me Mike." Rem nodded, "Alright, Mike. You can call me Rem." He took the shovel and in unison, the two continued digging the grave. This time, Rem's eyes didn't go absent. He was there entirely, focusing on every bit of dirt he shoveled away, determined to do this for his dad.

"That's deep enough," Mike commented as he straightened out and wiped some sweat off of his forehead. Rem stopped as soon as he said it and nodded. The two of them were standing inside of a hole six feet deep. "Come on, let's get out." Mike tossed his shovel outside and hopped up, hoisting himself up on his arms and when he stood up, he saw Rem was doing the same thing. He patted his hands together, dust coming off from them, and picked up the shovel, "Sun down, right?" Rem shook his head, "Around six is fine." Mike nodded. "I'll go around and let everyone know." As Mike began stepping away, Rem handed him his shovel and let him go. He found himself staring at the hole the two of them had dug. How unreal. That was where his father was going to be buried. Just when he started to feel emotional again, he took in a breath and released it. The feelings seemed to sooth when he did so, and then he heard a voice. "Remy?" He turned around to see who it was and found Maggy. "Oh, hello Maggy. How are you?" he asked, glancing back at the hole. "Not too good," she responded. "Oh?" his eyebrows raised and he looked at her again, "What's the matter, Maggy?" She shrugged her shoulders, "Well, to be honest I'm fine but it'd be rude for me to tell you I'm doing great when you're not doing so well." Rem stifled a laugh, and when he did, he found it so odd how she'd been able to amuse him.

"Yeah, thanks fer yer concern, Maggy." Maggy paced and stopped beside him, glancing at the hole in the ground. "Yup," she said. A pause ensued, during which she turned her eyes up to glance at his face a few times. She didn't know what to say, but she felt she had to say _something_. "You look so much like your dad." Rem turned his melancholy eyes to her, and the surprise didn't show up on his face, but it was there. "You act like him, too," she added. Rem took a breath and released it as he looked at the grave again. Maggy added, "I know he actually is gone and all, but looking at you, it's like he isn't." Rem's shoulders elevated and dropped just as quickly as they rose, shrugging, "Yew saw him when we came?" Maggy nodded, "Yup. He had his helmet off. Everyone was talking about how you both looked alike." Rem smiled, and Maggy noticed something odd about it. Even though he was smiling, he still managed to look sad somehow. "Hmmm." Rem heard the sound she made and got curious, "What?" Maggy stared, "You're smiling but you still look so sad. Are you going to cry?" The idea of crying, especially in front of a girl his age, made him defensive. "No," he said assertively, "I'm jest . . . sad, but I'm not gonna cry." Maggy took a moment to just kind of assess, and then added, "You've probably cried a lot by now." Again, he felt embarrassed. "No . . . well, I guess I have. I don' cry a lot though."

Maggy stepped closer to the hole Rem and Mike had dug, "I cry every time my dad leaves." Rem seemed to have the answer pretty fast, "That's cause yer a girl." She shook her head at him, "That's stupid. Aren't you crying because your dad left?" Rem glanced down at her, "That's different. Mah dad's dead, Maggy." Maggy didn't skip a beat when she answered him as well, "How do I know mine isn't? One day he might never come back, and I'm scared to feel the same way you do right now." The first image that came to mind was that absent glance in his eyes when he trudged into town for Wesley's blood. "I can tell it made you really sad. It's a little scary. I would cry forever." Rem reached up and rubbed his head as Maggy picked up a rock and threw it away from the hole. "Do you want to come see something?" When she didn't get an answer, she turned to look at Rem, who shrugged his shoulders at her. She breathed out, not too happy with his indifference. When she spoke again, she spoke with a little bit more strength, "Is there any place you ever wanted to be? Like the beach or, I don't know, a jungle?" Rem didn't look too reeled in even then, "I guess." At the moment, he couldn't think about anything he'd ever wanted to see, but his father came to mind. "My dad always wanted to see the beach in the way it looked before the war." Maggy paced closer to him, "What if I told you I could take you there?" Rem raised an eyebrow, "I'd call ya crazy, Maggy. The coast ain't nowhere near, and I'm not fixin' to travel far any time soon." Maggy just shook her head at him, "What if I told you there was one about ten minutes away from here?" Again, Rem looked uninspired, "I'd think yer crazy, Maggy." Maggy furrowed her eyebrows, "Fine, I'll prove it to you." She grabbed hold of his hand and began pulling him. He trudged at first but then he jogged, keeping up with her.

"We can't let anyone see us. My mom and dad don't know I know how to get into his secret place." When they arrived, Rem glanced at the building. It was different from the rest in the town. The walls were made of concrete but in one way it actually was the same as the others in the vein that it was wilting. There was one wall and roof in particular that had collapsed, revealing the room inside. There were filing cabinets, old desks and the floor had carpet on it, which had been decaying over the years. She led him over the wall and as she did, Rem just thought about how this didn't look much like a beach at all. "This ain't no beach, Maggy," he commented. She responded as if she was spitting poisonous darts at him, "That's because this place is a RobCo facility, not a beach." He thought to argue that she had told him she was taking him to the beach but instead, he stayed quiet. He decided to just let her lead him along. After navigating the facility, she led him down a flight of stairs that ended in front of an iron door that looked impossibly sturdy. It looked like it'd take a nuke to blow it open. Maggy, however, simply reached for the keypad beside it and pressed a few numbers with her slender fingers. The door budged, paused, and then pulled itself up, revealing an iron interior.

Their steps sounded metallic as they moved along and as he glanced every which way, he saw something that worried him. There were marks on the walls. Bullet marks, actually, and immediately, he stopped. "Maggy, are ya sher it's safe?" Maggy stopped and looked at him over her shoulder, "Of course. My dad defused all of the security systems." Rem didn't look too confident, but he decided to go along with it, "If ya say so, Maggy." She led him along for another few minutes and he started noticing that the place was huge. When they reached another door, Maggy pressed a few buttons on the keypad beside it, prompting the door to open. When Rem looked inside, his eyebrows raised in awe. "Woah, never seen this many sentry bots before." There were sixteen of those monstrosities in the room, eight on each wall, and they were marked from SB-1220 to SB-1236. "Wish we had these back where I'm from." Maggy nodded, "Yeah. This is why my daddy decided to settle here. He thought that if he could program these for town defense, we'd be well off." There was a pause as Rem walked towards one of the capsules, glancing up at the large, iron knight on wheels. "They're armed with gatling lasers and missile launchers. Each one carries four missiles. More than enough to make a few raiders pee their pants." Rem glanced back at her, "How do ya know all o' that?" She smiled innocently, "Got into the computers and read up." Rem turned away and nodded. He watched them for a few moments before Maggy called to him, "Let's go. This isn't what I came here to show you."

When they stepped out of the room, the door closed behind them. They walked down to the next underground level using the staircase and when they reached the room she was looking for, she pressed buttons on the keypad. The metallic door opened up and revealed a large screen to them, and they each stepped inside. "My dad comes here a lot to ask the computer questions." Rem turned a pair of curious blue eyes to her, "Ask it questions?" Maggy nodded as she spoke, "Username: Pink teddybear. Password: Aurora Borealis. Boot up. Command prompt: one one two seven." The screen flickered on and a robotic male voice responded, "Welcome Maggy. Booting up." It took a few moments but the screen showed a list, and Maggy began to explain. "I come here for a few things. You see that?" Rem was already reading through the list. "The Lion King. Good Will Hunting. What are those?" Maggy answered, "Movies." She stared up at the list and addressed the computer again, "Command Prompt: one two two eight." The screen changed, this time showing something else. Rem read them out loud, "Pac man. Duck Hunter. More movies?" Maggy shook her head, smiling, "Nope. Games, silly. I think that the people who worked here uploaded all these things into the computer without the administrators knowing. You know, so they wouldn't get bored." Rem nodded. "I've watched a lot of movies on here. They can actually help you learn. Anyway, I'll take you to the beach. Activate dual integration with command prompt one two two nine. Kehena Beach, Hawaii."

Rem glanced at her when she mentioned a beach. He didn't think it'd be too great to watch a movie or play a video game about the beach. It wasn't any different from looking at a pre war book. Amidst his rumination, two openings appeared under the computer and two platforms emerged. There were helmets on them. Maggy moved towards them and grabbed them, handing one to Rem, "Here, put this on Remy." Rem took it into his hands and studied it. It was made of gray plastic with a visor in front of it, where the eyes would be. Looked terribly expensive and fragile. "What's this, Maggy?" She answered him as she put hers on, "Integrators. They used them to integrate their minds to the computer so you don't have to speak commands out all the time. You think it and the computer does it. But uh . . . if you do it when you're watching a movie or playing a video game, it makes it so that it feels like you're there. They called it virtual reality. Saw that in a movie." Rem nodded. He guessed he could understand the concept. "Sit down, okay?" In the room, there were two chairs, and he sat down as he put the helmet on. When he did, he glanced through the visor and from one moment to the next, he blacked out.

When he opened his eyes again, he was stunned by what he saw. He was standing in a beautiful black sand beach on a summer day. He could feel the sand between his toes, he could feel the warmth of the sun splashing down on his bare shoulders and chest, and then he felt the cold water as the waves pushed up onto the shore and splashed against his feet. It felt so real but he didn't smile at all. His eyebrows were just raised, his mouth slightly open in surprise, shocked that he was there. "M - Maggy?" he asked, "Do ya see this?" he turned to his side to look at her, and she was there, staring at him with a smug grin. His eyes turned down to the rest of her to see that she was wearing a bathing suit, just like he was, except hers was a bikini and his was a pair of shorts. "Oh my gawd, Maggy," he commented as he looked back out to sea. He heard the seagulls cawing as they fluttered about in the air. "We're at the beach," he added, in disbelief. "We're at the beach!" he yelled, this time with more excitement. "Holeh shit!" he added as he jogged further in, immersing his feet further into the water. Maggy ran in right behind him, splashing water every which way. "Damn it's cold!" he yelled. The huge ear to ear smile that was on his face right then and there told Maggy she was doing something right. She stopped when the water was up to her stomach and covered herself when Rem tossed himself into the tide, splashing water everywhere.

When he opened his eyes underwater he was just in complete awe with how real this all felt. It genuinely felt like he was down under. He even had to hold his breath! And the sand below felt so real between his toes! When he emerged, he wiped his eyes and looked around for Maggy. She was gone, and then he heard a sound behind him. He turned around to see her wiping water out of her eyes and pushing wet hair out of her face. "Maggy, this is beautiful! It's like the bombs never fell!" Maggy nodded rapidly, "Yup!" On Maggy's end, she had been in all these places alone, but she started seeing it was better to be here with someone else. Someone her age, especially, made it a lot more fun.

They splashed around for a while. They even played what she said was called beach volleyball, and then they even used these short boards that floated in the water to ride in onto the shore on the waves. At some point in time, when he was standing on the shore, letting the water ravage his feet, he stopped to think, "Dad wudda loved comin' here wit' mom." Somehow, the idea didn't make him sad. It made him . . . nostalgic, weird as that was. Probably because he pictured the two of them splashing around in the water, laughing and playing beach volleyball together. They would have been so happy. Maggy approached him and stopped right beside him as he looked pensive. "Your dad _is _here, because you're here. Mom says she told you that, and I think it's true." Rem smiled and this time, Maggy knew it was genuine. He didn't look sad as he smiled. "Can I show you _my _favorite one?" Rem turned to her, "Yes, Maggy, 'course you can." Maggy nodded and spoke, "Bear Lake, Alaska." Rem glanced out to sea as he waited and then blacked out again.

When he awoke, he felt like he was wearing something heavier. He was wearing a few layers of clothing topped off with thick pants and a thick jacket. On his head, he was wearing a beanie, and ear muffs. "Jeez, Maggeh," he said, watching as his breath steamed out from his mouth, "It's cold." He didn't even notice he finally started pronouncing her name the way his accent coerced him to. When he looked down to the floor he saw that it was all white. This was snow. Furthermore, they were surrounded by a plethora of pine trees, all with more of the white stuff hanging off their green tendrils. Above them, the stars could be seen against the navy backdrop of the sky. "Maggeh, this is nice," he commented, looking around for her. He found her staring up at the sky, wearing the same thing he was wearing except in pink. She looked like she was captivated. "Maggeh," he called again, and she finally turned to look at him. "Oh! Follow me." She started walking, and so did he. A few minutes later, they emerged from the tree line and were revealed to Bear Lake, which was frozen over. It was . . . captivating, but his eyes didn't linger there for long. No, he turned his eyes skyward again and he saw why this was Maggy's favorite place. There was a smoky green shine spanning the air, floating in the backdrop of the skies and stars. Bewilderment crept onto his eyes and he asked, "What is that?" Maggy smiled as Rem turned to look at her. Her dark brown eyes reflected the green brilliance of the lights they were both seeing. "Aurora Borealis," she responded. "Aurora what?" She added, "The northern lights, Remy." Rem turned to look at them, stepping closer.

"Are they . . . are they real? Or did ya . . . program this?" Maggy stepped along with him and put her hand in front of his chest so he wouldn't walk onto the lake. He wouldn't die, of course, but it'd ruin the realism of the experience if they just ignored the dangers. "It's real, Remy. These lights really exist. They're not fake," she sounded so enchanted. Rem still looked positively stunned. "Wow," he said, simply. "That's . . . unbelievable," he added. Maggy smiled and stood there and then Rem felt her fingers wrapping around his hand. Without hesitation, his fingers returned the grasp, and they stood in silence, just staring, relishing in what this felt like. The cold breeze brushing against their faces, the smell of pine trees, the lake, and that beautiful lambency hovering over them in the air. It wasn't until another two hours that the simulation ended.

When his eyes came back and showed him where he was again, which was in that dull RobCo facility room underground, he felt some kind of detachment. Sort of like he really wasn't from here anymore. First thing he looked at was Maggy after he took off the helmet. The gentle smile on her lips said it all. None of them said a word as they returned the helmets back onto the platform and began leaving. When the final door opened and they stepped out, Rem turned to look at her. Their eyes locked for a few seconds and then, he closed his eyes and kissed her on the lips. Maggy's cheeks were tinged red and she closed her eyes, too, returning the kiss until Rem broke it. It had been such a childish, innocent kiss, with their lips simply touching. When their eyes opened again, they just stared into each other, smiling. It wasn't until then that one of them spoke, and it was Rem. "Thanks, Maggeh. You made me feel better." She nodded weakly, and then hugged back when Rem hugged her. "I have to get going, Remy. Mom's probably looking for me." His hands gently relinquished their hold, "Alright, Maggeh. I have to go and get things ready, anyway." They both walked up the stairs and exited the establishment, and then they looked at each other again. Maggy spoke, "I'll see you there, Remy." She waved her hand to him and he nodded, "Yup. See ya there." When she started walking away, Rem watched her until she rounded a corner, and then he turned and started walking in the opposite direction.

As he walked towards the populated section of the town alone, his mind started reattaching itself to this reality, but it didn't feel so heavy. He knew he had to go bury his dad but now that he was armed with wisdom from both Barbara and Mike, it felt lighter. The little field trip Maggy had taken him on also had a very good effect on him. It made him feel so easy, so alive, and when he started wondering if whether or not it was a bad thing for him to feel so good at a time like this, he asked himself what his dad would say. "It ain't like you're not still sad I'm gone, boy, an' I'm not exactly the sentimental type. You jus' found somethin' tah help ya get through this, and that's fine wit' me." There was a pause, "Now how 'bout that beach? Coulda used a bunch of half naked women like on dat magazine we have back home but it wudn't so bad. Don't tell yer mom I said that." Rem smiled at the idea and then he started to tear up. Funny how as the tears trailed down his cheek, he was still smiling.


	5. Funeral

**Mojave Wastland**

**September 6th 6:04 pm**

**2264**

By the time everyone arrived, his father's body was set beside the hole, resting inside of a thick brown sheet that obscured the blood. It was a small gesture likely offered to him by Michael, but Rem appreciated it quite a bit. Under the body, there was an improvised stretcher made out of two long sticks and a piece of plywood taken from one of the houses and there were ropes tied to the ends so that Rem and Michael could lower him into the grave when the time came. As Rem stood there with his hands clasped in front of him, he was looking down, thinking. There was no music playing and when he turned to look at everyone, he saw that none of them were dressed for the occasion. The funeral was nothing like what it would have been if the body had been brought to Ranger Center. There'd be lots of people there, a lot of them dressed in the traditional Desert Ranger outfits. There would be words and then they'd fire rifle rounds into the air. Definitely different but honestly, he was just glad that these people had come in the first place. They owed him that much. A few kids, a few elderly people, Jasmine, Mike, Joey and who was presumably his mother, then there was Maggy and Barbara, and a few other people he hadn't seen before.

"Everyone's here, Rem," Mike said, prompting Rem to toss a calm glance in his direction in acknowledgment. "Okay," he said. The steps that led him towards his father's lifeless body felt unreal. Light almost, like he was walking on the moon, and his head felt empty. He lowered to the head end of the body and grabbed the ropes just as Mike took hold of the other side. After that, they lifted him, and Rem's eyebrows furrowed as he struggled. When Joey saw that he was struggling he stepped forth, and was stopped just in front of him, "I can do this." Joey glanced down at him and nodded, "Awright." Then he stepped back into place, and everyone watched as the two of them lowered the Desert Ranger's body into the hole, gently as possible. Once it was inside, Rem straightened out and wiped his nose. His eyes started tearing up. "Here," Mike said, handing Rem a shovel. Rem took it and the two of them started piling dirt onto the Desert Ranger's body. Rem glanced down into the hole each time he threw dirt into there and watched as the sheets disappeared into the brown envelope of the dirt.

By the time the body had been covered in entirety, twilight was upon them. There was an orange glow lining the horizon in the east and when its expansion across the sky ended, it met the navy hue of the coming night closer to the west. Rem looked up at that and wiped his eyes as he turned to everyone. Michael had backed into the small crowd and he held his hands clasped in front of him. "Thank yew all fer comin'," Rem began, sniffling as he did. "I can't tell ya'll how much I appreciate this." Most of them just stared at him but some of the ones he knew nodded. Barbara, for example, made eye contact with him and dipped her chin slowly as her eyes closed, offering an encouraging "yes" that Rem almost heard in his head. "Mah dad's real name was Remington Jayce Peregrine. Thought ya'll should know that." As he spoke, he did so with a very low tone of voice, but everyone could hear him in the silence. "I'm really gonna miss him. Mah mom's gonna miss him. Everyone who loved him will miss him, actually." His eyes were still watery and it was clear he was trying not to start crying.

"I hope everyone here knows he was a very good guy. Like every man that's earned his title as a Desert Ranger, he had the want an' need tah help anyone who needed helpin'. An' he helped a heap o' people in his time. I hope that everythin' he ever did for anyone never gets forgotten." As he spoke, he wiped more tears out of his eyes and went silent for a few moments. When he finally spoke again, he stuttered, "M - m . . " After he did, he stiffened his upper lip and furrowed his eyebrows, flashing a pair of determined, blue eyes at everyone after he did. "May time treat his memory fairly," he said, and then he procured a leather sheet and started unwrapping the item inside. When it was opened, it was a cross with his father's name carved into it. He moved up to the head of the grave and drove it in, using his foot to press it deeply into the soil. Then he turned back to the townfolk and wiped his eyes again, "That is all." People started stepping in, all offering their silent thoughts and a nod to the new grave that had been made, and moved along. Rem watched them all go by and when he saw the last person approaching, he glanced up at her. It was Fina. She glanced at him like she wanted to say something, but he beat her to the punch. "I'm sorry, ma'am. My parents taught me better than tah disrespect mah elders." Fina shook her head, "It's alright. How are you feeling?" Rem shrugged his shoulders, "I'm awright, I guess." Fina nodded, "If you need anything, you can come ask me." Rem smiled weakly, "Sure thang. Thank yew." With that, she moved along, looking alright, but she wasn't. Once she was gone, he turned to sit down beside the mound of dirt under which his father was buried.

His knees were bent, pointed skywards, and his arms were resting on them. From a distance, Maggy, Barbara, Jasmine and Mike all watched him. Mike released a breath, "Poor kid." Jasmine added, "Think he'll be alright?" Mike nodded, "Yeah, he will. It'll take time, but he'll be alright. I'm more worried about how he's going to get home." The next voice they heard was Barbara's, "I was thinking the same thing. Maybe . . . we should wait for Austin to get here so he can escort him home." Mike glanced at her, "Think he would?" Barbara nodded once, assuredly, "Yeah, he would." Maggy was just silent, but the thought that her dad would take Rem home made her feel comfortable. "Mom, I'll stay here and let him know he can go to Jasmine's house or ours when he's done." Barbara glanced at her and so did the rest of them. Maggy added before they could say anything, "There are too many adults around, that's all." Mike chuckled, "Whatever you say, sprout. You have a crush." Barbara smiled and so did Jasmine. "Do not, you're all just . . . dumb." Mike digressed, "She's right. It doesn't feel good when people are standing around you, whispering about you. You make sure he feels welcome any place he goes, Maggy." With that, he started stepping away, "Come on, mom." Jasmine started walking and Barbara was just not too at ease leaving Maggy there. "Uh, I'll be here in an hour if you aren't home yet." The daughter nodded, "Okay mom." Barbara thought for a moment and then started leaving.

Rem glanced to his left when he heard someone sitting down next to him. As he did, he smelled a familiar scent. It was Maggy. Smelled like she had gotten her hands on some vanilla scented lotion. "Hey, Maggeh," he said. She responded, "Hey Remy. Are you alright?" Rem shrugged his shoulders but when he spoke, he spoke with more certainty, "Yeeeeah. I am. Mike told me that after I'd buried mah dad, I'd feel proud that I did everything. He also said it'd take a while but I already feel glad I dug the hole and laid him tah rest mahself. I'm also glad I said somethin' afterwards." Maggy was looking straight ahead at the mound of dirt as he spoke. She really didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything, thinking it might be best to just let him talk. When she glanced at him, she saw his eyes were still pink but he was calm now. "Thanks fer comin', by the way." She answered and nodded at the same time, "M-hm." After that, they just sat there in total silence. For Rem it went by fast, so fast that he didn't realize until a while later that Maggy hadn't said a thing the entire time. How was it that she always got it right? "You can go home if ya like." Maggy glanced at him, like she'd been lost in her thoughts, too, and Rem had just pulled her out of them. "They told me to tell you that you can either come home with me and my mom or with Mike and his mom. It's up to you."

"Gee Maggy, I wouldn't wanna bother anyone." Maggy shook her head, "Mike told me to make sure you knew you were welcome anywhere you choose. And . . . you are. You can come with anyone you want." Rem glanced back at the grave, "Still feels weird with me just sayin' where I wanna go." Maggy shrugged, "Just come with me then." Rem glanced at her, and he smiled softly, "Awright." When he looked ahead again, he reached up and rubbed his head. "Let's get goin' Maggeh." The two of them stood up and started walking side by side. When they reached her door, Maggy reached forth and opened it, stepping inside before Rem. Barbara turned to glance at the two of them, "Hey, you two. With us, huh?" Rem tilted his head up as he closed the door behind him, "Yes ma'am, if ya don't mind." Barbara smiled, "We don't. We have three rooms. Two upstairs and one downstairs in the back. You'll have the room downstairs." Rem nodded as Maggy stepped ahead, moving towards the staircase while Rem looked around.

The first floor was also the front for their general store, but as he perused the shelves that had been nailed to the wall behind the counter, likely to prevent theft, he realized that this wasn't like any general store. There were little trinkets and other miscellaneous objects that he rarely ever saw. There was an ohmmeter, which he recognized from back home. There were binoculars, another device that he didn't quite recognize, and many other things. As he looked at all of it, he leaned up on the counter. Barbara was dusting the shelves when she noticed him. "Anything catch your eye?" Rem pointed at the unidentified device, "What's that?" Barbara looked at it and answered, "That's a nose trimmer." Rem raised his eyebrows and nodded a few times as he retracted his hand and pressed it against the counter. Other objects he saw on the shelves among the trinkets were boxes of bar soap, boxes of lotion, scented candles, lighters, lamps that had been retrofitted to run when connected to fission batteries, and a lot of other stuff. "I guess I should be happy I don't grow no nosehairs yet." Barbara chuckled, "All of the hygienic stuff goes out fast. The only reason that nose hair trimmer's still there is because every family in town already has one. A visitor will probably take it sooner or later."

As Barbara continued cleaning the place up, he continued looking through the stuff. Then he saw something else he recognized. "Woah, is that a pip boy?" Barbara turned to look at it, "Yup. Doesn't work though, and my husband can't seem to find the parts to make it work. He said he'd probably need another pip boy to fix it. He decided to leave it here for sale just in case anybody already has one that needs some fixing. Then we can sell it for a pretty good price." Rem nodded, "So yer husband gets all these thangs?" Barbara set the duster down and grabbed a towel. She wet it and started cleaning the counter with it, "Yup. He's a scavenger. Pretty good at it, too. He brings home all kinds of things and that's how we make our money." Rem nodded, "Me an' mah dad did some scavenging from time to time tah get some extra money. Ya never know when ya might get lucky and find somethin' expensive. That's what mah dad always said."

Barbara finished cleaning up the counter and breathed out, "All done. So, I was meaning to ask you, Remy. How far away is Ranger Center?" Rem glanced up at her and he answered without hesitation, "Around . . . forty somethin' miles away from here." Barbara nodded, "That'd take days on foot." After she said that, he started thinking about it. Of course he'd thought about it before, but now he thought about it thoroughly. "Yes, but I have tah go. I have tah let mom know what happened tah dad." Barbara placed the towel aside somewhere and answered, "Yeah, you'll go, but wait for my husband. He'd be happy to take you home after what your father did for the town." Rem didn't like the idea immediately, feeling that he'd be intruding far too much. "Oh no, that'd be askin' fer too much ma'am. I'll find a way to get there on mah own, don't ya worry." Barbara shook her head, "Your father wouldn't be happy with me, and neither would your mother, if I let you go alone. So you're staying here, okay? Until my husband gets here." When she spoke that way, with more strength, she reminded him of his mother. He didn't respond though. Barbara stared at him and when he didn't say anything, she walked up to him and touched his cheek, "You've been through enough, Remy, and I'm going to make sure you get home safe so your mother doesn't lose the both of you. Alright?" Rem glanced up at her. God, she reminded him so much of his mother. "Yes ma'am," he said. "Now come on, let me show you your room."

He followed her towards the door and when she opened it, he looked inside. It was a modest room but somehow, it managed to look very cozy. There was a twin size bed with its head up against the wall, and on either sides, there were two small cabinets with a lamp on one of them. There was a barred window to one side, a desk with an offive chair near it, and then there was something odd on the floor. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at it. "That's a bean bag couch, Remy. Maggy has one in her room. She loves it." Rem glanced and paced towards it, and then he just plopped down on it. It was soft and immediately, he found why Maggy had one in her room, too. "Not bad. Makes me feel lazy though," he commented. Barbara smiled. "The shower's upstairs." Rem nodded, thinking about how lucky these people were to have an irrigation system. Probably another good reason for settling here.

After the door closed behind Barbara, he felt relaxed. It was just like the time Fina had put him to sleep; a bit of finality. The day was over. His father had been buried and he had gotten past that hump. The next thing he had to worry about was getting home and breaking the news to mom. It was a terrifying thing to think about, honestly. She'd be worried once they failed to radio in from one of their safehouses, and then once he finally got there, her fears would be confirmed. Something _had _happened. That sinking feeling in her stomach had been there for a reason. Rem breathed in and released, and just as the dread began settling over his heart again, the door opened. Maggy came in and as she opened her mouth to speak, Barbara yelled, "Maggy! Make sure you knock first!" Maggy turned to look back in her mother's direction and answered, "Sorry mom! Forgot!" Then she stepped inside, pushing the door closed. She looked like she had something in mind.

"Hey," she said, mischievously. "Want to go back to the RobCo facility tonight?" The thought sounded intriguing but this time, he didn't have the motivation. Maybe there was a bit of guilt there. Guilt that he should be grieving and worrying about his situation a bit more than he had been. "Maybe tomorrow, Maggeh. Not tonight. I'm feelin' a lil tired, that's all." Maggy's expression changed, showing a bit of disappointment as she sat down on his bed. "O - okay," she said. Rem's eyes watched her for a few moments and then he tried to assuage her sentiments, "Tomorrow. I promise." Maggy smiled gently and nodded as her eyes trailed off to the side. As she looked away, Rem could see the disappointment wasn't going to leave entirely. "So, Maggeh, yer really smart, ya know. Yew prolly learned a lot from watchin' them movies." She nodded, "Yup. There's a lot of stuff to be taken from watching movies from before the bombs dropped." Rem nodded, "Wish I had a place tah watch movies like that." As he looked away, a light manifested in Maggy's eyes, but she didn't say anything pertaining to the idea she had just gotten.

"So . . . " she said, looking for a topic. "Tell me about Ranger Center. Do you know how it came to be?" Rem answered pretty quickly, "Well, it was originally a prison. Durin' the year that the bombs was gonna drop, there was a few US Army Engineers buildin' bridges in the southwestern deserts over dry riverbeds. South from where they was there was a new prison that had been built recentleh at the time. When the war began and bombs started tah blow up everywhere, they sought shelter in dat prison. They went in and expelled all the prisoners inside and once everythin' was over, they started invitin' small communities that had survived tah come live wit' 'em." As she listened, she nodded slowly. "The US Engineers wrote books on all kinds o' thangs. They started with engineerin' stuff and then they wrote trainin' stuff. Basic, fer example. Soldiers back then used to go through a trainin' regiment called "Basic" before they was allowed tah join the miltary. Toughened them up and made sher they was fit fer duty. They also wrote books on how Ranger Center came tah be and all dat stuff is taught to us as we grow up."

"Is there any overcrowding? A prison couldn't hold too many people over time, I don't think." Rem nodded a bit, "Yeah, there is, but they have a way tah aleviate that. Tah start off, the prison is damn huge. It was big when they got there and it was made tah be bigger as time went by. The prison had manufacturin' facilities inside and with enough raw material and with enough know how, the people that was there before us made the place a lot bigger. The insides were renovated and made tah be like apartments. A whole lotta apartments, but even that ain't enough fer everyone." Maggy listened. She didn't look disappointed anymore. She did look curious, however. "So how do they aleviate that?" Rem continued, "Well, Desert Rangers are trained intensively tah survive and tah help others out in the wastes survive, too. When a Desert Ranger reaches a certain level o' education, he gets deployed." Maggy echoed his words, "Deployed?" Rem nodded to ascertain what he said, "Yes. They have tah leave the facility and go out tah do the best they can." Well, that was certainly a bit of information that Maggy didn't know. After all, there wasn't a movie on the Desert Rangers, so she couldn't possibly have known.

"How do they choose who goes and stays?" Rem folded his arms behind his head and continued, "Teachers. Drill Sergeants, is what that means, and I guess yew can say the smartest ones have tah stay fer the betterment of the Desert Ranger program. The ones that can keep the defense systems runnin' best. The ones that can repair the walls quickest, the ones that can keep the irrigation system goin', all o' that. And o' course, a few Desert Rangers that have earned their right tah leave are kept there to defend the premises from raiders, tribals, super mutants, and anythin' else might be lookin' tah cause harm." All of a sudden, she found herself very intrigued with the Desert Rangers. She almost wished she lived there. "The Desert Rangers that get deployed can never come back?" Rem shook his head, "Oh no, they can. Sometimes, one Desert Ranger gets deployed and his or her family stays behind. They can come visit their families so long as they bring back their own resources. Food, ya know, water, stuff like that. And the people inside can also request leave tah go out with their loved ones. Takes a while tah get leave, though, 'specially if yer important."

"And what happens when one Desert Ranger that's been deployed has children with a Desert Ranger that has to stay?" Rem paused, considering the fact that this was his situation. "Aside from bein' taught at Ranger Center, the deployed Desert Ranger has an obligation to take his or her son or daughter out into the wastes and teach them as much as possible. Teach them tah shoot, tah hunt, tah survive, all o' that. When the Desert Ranger has a son or daughter with him, he's allowed to return to Ranger Center more often, too. Still has to bring resources or somethin' that Ranger Center can really use." She nodded a few times, scratching her arm. "Wow." There was a pause and then she had another question. She felt like she had a million of them. "Can anyone from outside join?" Rem shrugged his shoulders, looking to the side as he did before he began answering, "They used tah be able to, but with overcrowdin', that settled down a bit. Rangers can have children with people from the outside an' train 'em, though. Some of them kids can request tah be tested at Ranger Center fer qualification an' if they pass, they become Desert Rangers. Hell of a long waitin' period for that, though, and people always say nobody needs no damn certification from Ranger Center to do what a Desert Ranger does." Rem didn't know it, but he had sent her hopes and dreams crashing. Well, lightly. She hadn't worked up years of excitement and hope to feel too bad about it. "Can Rangers train anyone they want?" Rem made a face, "'Course they can. They're _supposed _tah train anyone they can tah survive." Maggy smiled widely, "You should teach me then." Rem chuckled, "Yeah, sher. I can teach ya a few thangs, I guess." That was certainly a bit of consolation. She was staring straight into Rem's blue eyes when they were interrupted. The door opened and Barbara peeked her head in, "Dinner's ready." Rem tilted his head up from where he was sitting as Maggy stood up. "K," she answered. Rem hoisted himself off of the bean bag couch and followed Maggy out of the door.

"That was delicious, Mrs. Quinn," commented Rem. He'd gotten the family's last name during dinner. Barbara appeared delighted to hear he enjoyed the food, "I'm glad you liked it." Maggy chimed in, "Dad loves mom's cooking, too." The oldest of the three began standing from her chair, and then she went on about collecting what was left behind. Rem smiled up at her as she did, and then he began standing up, too. He took his plate into hand and began picking up things Mrs. Quinn hadn't been able to take herself in one trip. As he put plates in the sink, he commented, "If ya need anythin' done, let me know Mrs. Quinn. Like takin' out the trash, or cleanin' the bathroom." She couldn't help but feel more fondness towards him because of his manners. "Sure, Remy," she replied. Rem breathed out in subtle amusement, but Barbara caught it despite how subtle it had been. "What is it?" she asked. The boy shook his head dismissively as he responded, "It's just that mom calls me Remy, too." She nodded to him as she began washing the dishes. Rem's blue eyes glanced at the running water and he thought about how this was only one of the few places he'd ever seen that in. Besides Ranger Center, of course. "I'ma turn in. Night Mrs. Quinn. Night Maggeh," he said. The two girls responded, but Barbara was first, "Night Remy." Then Maggy answered, "Good night!" She stared at his back as he exited the kitchen and disappeared into his room a few moments later.

About two hours later, Maggy was sitting in the same place she always sat before she ever went to sleep. She was right in front of the window, glancing out into the town and into the wasteland behind it. As she breathed out, feeling fidgety, she wondered if she'd see something tonight. She had seen geckos, radscorpions, and once, she'd even seen a giant radscorpion, terrifying as that was. Thank goodness it only passed by, however. If it had decided to make a home out of the area it would have been a big problem to travelers and the townsfolk as well. As she sat there, she saw something flicker in the corner of her eye. She turned to see and realized that Fina's house lights had gone off. She was heading to bed, obviously. The only lights left on were from Jasmine's house and the Davidson home. Then Jasmine's lights went off, and she released a breath. She continued feeling fidgety and she knew why. She wanted to see Remy. When she concluded that she'd see him the next day anyway, she digressed.

Having been unable to go sleep since he told the Quinns he was turning in, Rem was sitting on the bean bag couch in nothing but his underpants. As he sat there, he found that his mind was positively aflutter with wonders. He thought about how long it might take Maggy's father to get back, or, god forbid, _if _he'd even come back at all. When he thought about that he scratched it from his mind. It looked to him like the two girls were used to the father of the household to be out for a while and to come back in one piece every time, so he was definitely coming back eventually. But when? It could take months and by then, his mother would have worried up a storm, and he was no stranger to what people could do when they'd lost all hope. One thing his mother and father had always been so impacted by was when a Ranger Center engineer by the name of Thomas had killed himself after losing contact with his wife and son for just over a year. "Ugh," he breathed out, reaching up to his head, scratching at the sides in frustration. He had never thought like a grown up for this long.

Squeak. Rem turned his head to the door as it opened, and he didn't remove his gaze until he saw who it was. "Maggeh?" In response, she held her index finger to her mouth. "Shh," she commanded, gently, and closed the door just as. Then she turned and started walking towards him, wearing panties and a sleeveless white shirt. Rem smiled widely when he noticed something and stifled a laugh. Maggy stopped in her tracks and looked down, and that was when she saw what he was amused by. There was a hole in the elastic of her panties. "Shut up," she whispered, "Panties are hard to come by." Rem shook his head, still smiling. "Why aren't you in bed?" she asked. "I couldn't sleep," he answered. He sounded like he was still very much amused, but then his tone changed. "What are ya doin' here?" Maggy paused, looked off to one side, and answered, "I couldn't sleep either." That was far from the truth but she was too shy to say.

Though neither of them had mentioned it, Rem knew why she shouldn't be here, even if she didn't intend to do something that her mother would disapprove of. He was thinking pretty coherently until it settled in him that she very well might be there for something they could both get in trouble for. That smile left his face as Maggy came closer and went to sit on the same bean bag couch as he. He scooted over and allowed it, and as she sat down, her slender, gentle fingers touched down on his thigh. It made his body shiver. That was when his cheeks and ears got hot, and when his heart started pumping blood faster than normal. "Maggeh, if yer mom caught ya here, we'd both be in big trouble." She reassured him immediately, "She's asleep, Remy." With that said, she turned her body towards his and moved her hand from his thigh up to his chest, where her hands touched the wounds that were well on their way towards healing by then. At first, she was startled, but when he didn't wince or anything, she just continued touching them. "Did it hurt?" Rem, by then, was losing his mind, and honestly, so was she. He could hear that her breath was more audible than usual, and it wasn't because of the quiet setting they were in that it was louder. "I was asleep when she did it. It hurt when I woke up though." She glanced up at his face with her dark brown eyes, which he could barely see in the darkness, and then she looked back down at his chest, touching softly.

A few moments went by and Rem was starting to feel very nervous. "Maggeh . . . I think you should really get tah bed. Yer mom might catch ya here." She just looked up at him, leaned in, and did something she had been so nervous to do. Her lips touched down on his and brushed gently. As Rem received the gesture, he found that it felt a lot different from the first time. The first time, he didn't end up feeling like he had done something they could get in deep trouble over but this, this was different. He could get kicked out of the house for this. As his thoughts continued firing, Maggy realized he wasn't returning the kiss. Her lips slowly seperated from his, peeling themselves off before she spoke, "What's wrong?" she asked. Her voice was a low whisper. "We're gonna git in trouble Maggeh. Ya need tah get back tah yer room." Her lips pressed together and he could see her countenance changing. The disappointment therein was so vivid. "Have you ever done it?" she asked. If Rem wasn't already absolutely terrified, he was now. "N - n - no," he answered, stuttering in his whisper. " . . . you?"

Maggy sat up a bit and glanced down at him as her hand rubbed his stomach, and then she shook her head, "No, but I've seen it, though, so I think I know how." Rem raised an eyebrow, "Where'd you see it?" Maggy's shoulders slowly raised and dropped just as, "Movies." "Movies?" asked he. She nodded to ascertain what she was saying. "There are those kinds of movies in the facility where they . . . " her voice trailed off, " . . . do it." His blue eyes were unblinking as he stared at the vague image of her face. He was at a loss for words but she didn't seem to be. "Do you wanna?" She sounded shy, and there was another pause during which Rem thought relentlessly. He remembered thinking about this frequently, and aside from that, he'd been around older children at Ranger Center that claimed to have had sex at some point in their lives. In the end, the fact of the matter was that . . . he was interested in doing this, all because his childhood instincts were calling for him to do it and not because he was lost in lust. "Let's do it in bed then." He was speaking in a whisper and as he responded, he sat up. She did, too, and the two of them started heading to the future scene of the crime. When they got there, the two of them were standing beside it in utter silence, blissfully unaware of how ridiculously awkward, immature, and naive this all was. "I'm going to get on top, right?" he asked. She nodded to him.

He felt a very familiar growth in his lower region. "Okay," he said, "Take off yer clothes." She responded quickly, "You first." The answer was less than comforting. He felt that she was forcing him into the spotlight before her but he thought that this was going to happen one way or another, and that's when he began pulling his underpants down. As they slid down his hips and lowered to his thighs, her curious eyes tilted down and stared for a long while. This was the first time she'd seen that in real life, and it made her cheeks and ears get hot. Rem on the other hand never felt like he'd been watched this way. Maybe it was luck or some kind of fortunate apathy that kept him from feeling wrong because of what Martha had done to him, but he wasn't even thinking about that unfortunate incident. Instead, it felt like this was still the first time ever he'd been involved in something sultry. "Yer turn," he said, and she glanced up at his eyes. Then she reached down and did the same, sinking her fingers into the elastic of her panties and pulling them down. Rem looked down and saw what she had for the first time in his life. He wasn't allowed to scrutinize for long because she promptly covered it with her hands.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking up at her face. She was staring at him in utter silence, her eyes unblinking. She even gulped because of how nervous she was. "Don't look at it . . . " she said. Rem got irritated, "But ya saw mine. Ya have tah show me." She stared at him for a while and then started moving her hands. His eyes trailed down again, waiting to see, and then they heard and saw something very off. Light trailed into the room and as a furious maelstrom of thoughts crossed his mind about how bad they'd messed up, he pulled his underpants back up and looked at the door. Maggy did the exact same thing, only she scrambled more than Rem did, and when they both cast their eyes to the door with their hearts beating widly, they saw the light was seeping in from the opening under the door. "Shit Maggeh," he whispered, "It's yer mom." Maggy was simply stunned, so much she was unable to talk. Then . . . they heard steps leading to the room. "Hiiiide!" he whispered, as he grabbed her shoulder and forced her to move. "Under the bed!" he ordered. She lowered and scurried under there as quickly as she could. The dust underneath there irritated her nose.

When the door opened, he was sitting on the bean bag couch, glancing at the door. Barbara peeked in towards the bed and just when she didn't see him, he spoke, "Yes Mrs. Quinn?" Her shoulders jumped as she whipped her eyes across the room at him. "Oh, hey Remy. Why aren't you asleep?" Rem breathed out in what looked like a sigh of disconcertment, but it was actually a sigh of relief. She didn't seem to know. "I can't sleep, is all. Can't stop thinkin' about mom." She frowned and began stepping inside, wearing a modest night gown. As she sat on the bed, Maggy's eyes went wide, feeling how the bed screeched slightly under her weight. Her cheeks and ears were still hot, and she could feel her head pounding from the way her heart was beating. "Would you like something to drink?" He answered as he looked at her, fully aware of the fact that Maggy must've been losing her mind underneath that bed right about now. "No ma'am, thank yew. I think I'll git tired soon. Wouldn't be too surprised if I fell asleep right here, too." Barbara smiled, "Yeah, those bean bag couches are nice." Rem nodded, "They sher are Mrs. Quinn."

"How are you holding up?" Way she saw it, he was doing so much better than anyone could have expected him to do. He'd just buried his father that day and somehow, he was sitting right there, composed. He'd eaten dinner, too, and had seemingly managed to enjoy miscellaneous things like that bean bag couch. "I'm as . . . alright as I can be, Mrs. Quinn. I try not tah think about it too much," he answered with a breathy voice. She concured, "Just so you know, you're handling yourself well. Your father would be proud." Rem nodded as he tilted his head to the right, "I'm definitely tryin'. Right now, I'm jest worried about mom. We was supposed to have contacted her four days ago but we was caught up with the raiders, so she's prolly already worryin' up a storm." There was a pause while Barbara seemed to assess, and he took a quick chance to try and get her to leave. First, he stretched his arms out and yawned, "I'm gettin' sleepy. Took a while though." She smiled at him, amused, and then looked away, still pensive, "I know what it's like to be a mom at home worried about your husband returning. I'm sure Austin will get back soon though, and he can do you the favor of escorting you there." In response, he began standing up from the bean bag couch, nodding as he did, "Thank yew Mrs. Quinn." As he walked towards the bed, he faked another yawn and then spoke, "I think I'll get some sleep now, if ya don't mind." She started getting up, "Of course not." He watched as she paced towards him, reaching out to his face, caressing his cheeks. He looked straight up at her and closed his eyes as she kissed his forehead. Again, he realized just how much she resembled his mother in terms of mannerisms. "Sweet dreams," she wished, as she walked away. When the door closed behind her he looked towards the bed.

Maggy came crawling out of there and Rem helped her up onto her feet. There was still light filtering in from under the door. "Maggeh, ya have tah get back tah yer room soon as she leaves." She responded in a whisper as well, patting dust off herself as she did, "I'm scared she might see I'm not in bed right now." Rem's eyes narrowed and he cursed, "Shit." Then he turned to the door and got scared when the light went off. She was going back upstairs now and the seconds got slow. The two of them were just standing there in complete silence, and when they heard her steps stop, he winced, like he could _feel _that she was just now finding out that Maggy wasn't in her bed. A few moments later, everything stopped, and he heard a door closing. Maggy spoke, "She didn't notice." The two of them released a breath almost in unison, and then he turned to look at her, "Ya have tah get tah bed." She stared at him and he didn't need her to speak to see the disapproval, "But . . . " He pressed his lips together and thought. "We can do it at the facility tomorrow. Noone would see us there Maggeh," he said. "Now git goin', 'fore she realizes somethin's goin' on." The reasoning seemed to be enough for her. "Okay," she said, stepping in and kissing his lips. He returned it and it felt so much like the first time they'd kissed. When their lips peeled from each other, she began walking towards the door, "Sweet dreams, Maggeh. I love ya." She glanced back at him over her shoulder, smiling, completely stunned by the childish gesture he'd just sent her way. "I love you, too, Remy," she responded, returning the same naivete, and opened the door gently as possible. Rem watched her leave and turned towards bed once the door closed. What a day.


	6. Jeez Louise

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 7th 7:49 am**

**2264 **

One moment he was asleep and the next moment, he woke. When his blue eyes revealed him to the same dreary reality he'd been immersed in during the past few days, all notions of sleepiness left him. He thought about his father being gone now because somehow that had grown to be what defined his life nowadays, and then he thought about the present. The present, full of dread and worry, all over again, and his mother. "Ugh," he breathed out as he sat himself up, rubbed his eyes, and then got out of bed. As he headed out in his underpants and a shirt, carrying a white towel in his hands, the idea that there was a shower in the house reminded him of what it was like to live at Ranger Center. Back home, there were public bathrooms and showers and though it was different to having a personal one like the Quinns had, having been raised in that environment made it all feel like it was the same thing.

When the door opened and he looked out into the shop and further back into the kitchen, there was nobody there. It looked like Barbara and Maggy were still asleep. He yawned softly as he walked up the steps, remembering that he'd been told the shower was upstairs, and once he got there, he assumed the two doors that were on the same wall were the two girls' rooms and the door at the end of the hallway was the bathroom. After pushing that door open, he found he was correct, and began the morning routine. As he brushed his teeth with an actual toothbrush, which had been provided to him by Barbara, he thought about the ways of cleaning his mouth that his father had taught him. One example was ash taken from a campfire so long as he didn't do it every day. When he wondered why he couldn't do it so frequently, he didn't remember. After brushing his teeth, he took a satisfying shower with actual warm water. Once he stepped out, he wrapped a towel around himself and headed back into his room, where he began getting dressed. He had just put a shirt on when he heard a knock at the door. "Come in," he called, and the door was pushed open. Maggy was the one that stepped through. "Mornin' Maggy," he said, and she responded, "I heard someone moving around and I knew it was you. Mom doesn't wake up this early." He sat on the bed and began putting on his shoes. After tying the shoe laces she spoke, "Where are you going?" The boy's shoulders lifted and lowered, "Not sher. I guess I'ma go git dad's stuff." She nodded to him, "I'll take a shower and come with you." Rem had no idea exactly where Jasmine and Mike lived, so that was welcome. She closed the door behind her and he sat down on the bean bag couch, waiting.

She returned about twenty minutes later, dressed in clothes that were otherwise nice if not a little worn. It was hard to find clothes in mint condition during these times. She was wearing a pair of black denim short shorts and a white tank top. Then she had a pair of converse on, different colors, too. One black one white, and he found that mildly entertaining. "Maggeh, I think ya got yer shoes mixed up," he teased, looking down at them. She slapped at his arm. "Mind your business." He couldn't help but chuckle a few times, thinking about what his father and mother would have thought if he appeared in shoes that were two different colors. "Awright, Maggeh, let's go," he said as he began walking out, still clearly amused. She followed behind him, glancing at his hand until they stepped out. If it wasn't such a dead give away, she would have loved to hold it as they walked.

"Think they're awake Maggeh?" he asked. She shrugged her shoulders as they walked down the middle of the pavement, which was covered in dirt. "Maybe. I don't know what time they usually wake up." The two of them were walking towards Mike's house when they heard something odd. A neigh and then like someone was giving someone else a raspberry. Rem's eyebrows raised and looked in the direction, "A horse?" he asked. The girl nodded to him, "Yup. Joey works with Brahmin, Big Horners, and all kinds of animals. Sometimes he'll trade some of his cattle for horses. Travelers that pass by occasionally offer up a lot of caps for them." As she spoke, Rem's mind hopped somewhere else entirely. There was a horse there. On a horse, he could get home so much quicker than he could if he was on foot, and what more, his father had taught him how to ride one. His heart jumped and he started jogging in the direction it was coming from. She watched him go and started running after him, and when they rounded the corner, sure as hell, there was a horse being tugged along by its reins. The horse was an adult mare. A palomino, which meant its fur was of a vibrant gold sheen and its mane and tail were white. Joey glanced at the two of them, "Hey there ya two. What ya'll doin' up so early?"

Rem was silent as he approached, and he ignored the question entirely while Maggy actually responded. "We're going to pick up his dad's stuff at Jasmine's house." Joey nodded to them, looking ahead again as Rem approached and spoke something that surprised he and Maggy at the same time. "How much ya want fer the horse?" Joey's blue eyes were looking ahead when he heard the question. It certainly sounded like he was interested, so he turned to look at the young boy. "Yer not fixin' tah ride all the way back home by yerself are ya? Do ya even know how _to_ ride?" Rem nodded deeply, "I sher do. Mah father taught me fer a while until our horse was crisped by fire geckos a few months back. And she's a mare, idn't she? She shouldn't be too much trouble." Joey looked at him with a bit more respect, at least when it came to the subject of horses. Mares were definitely a lot easier to handle than stallions were, and as for geldings, well, he didn't know anybody who could actually castrate a horse, so those were impossible to get. "Well, uh, I usually sell 'em fer six thousand caps." As soon as Rem heard the price, he knew it was steep. "But I guess I can do ya a favor and offer yew her fer five thousand." His hopes had risen and crashed back down again. Joey looked regretful that he couldn't offer up one of these things to the kid for free, but what could he do, right?

"Would ya mind tradin'?" Rem asked. Joey shrugged, "Depends on what ya got." The young man didn't skip a beat answering, "I got a lever action rifle and shotgun. A Marlin 1894 and a Winchester 1887. The actions are smooth as a baby's bottom and I got some ammo for 'em, too." There was a pause, "Oh an' a 357. revolver. The cylinder ain't so smooth but it's never jammed on me when I've used it. Got some ammo fer that, too." Joey didn't look too impressed with the proposition. "I don't deal in guns. Tell ya what though, go see if Mike'll buy all o' that from ya an' come back with how much ya get. That sound good?" The boy answered assuredly, "Awright. I'll see what I can do. Thanks." With that, Joey continued walking along, guiding the mare along with him as Maggy stood by. She spoke once Joey was out of ear shot "You think you can get home if you get the horse?" He turned to glance at her, "Course I can. Trick is gettin' the horse." Way she saw it, he looked pretty certain, but she was unable to tell that he wasn't entirely confident. He had ridden a horse before on his own but under close supervision of his father. Regardless, he was determined to get home. "Let's go see Mike." Maggy began walking but that's when she started to think that if he got the horse, he'd be leaving very soon. A bit of worry settled in her chest.

When they arrived, Rem was glad to see the door was open. The establishment was made primarily of wood and there were a few patches that had been reinforced, or perhaps repaired, with pieces of the same material and aluminum sheets. There was a label hanging off the top side of the door that read armory, and he didn't hesitate to walk right in with the girl in tow. "Hey there, love birds. I'm guessing you're here for your stuff, kid." Rem glanced up at Mike, who was standing behind the glass counter. The counter had cracks on it but that didn't stop Mike from stocking it with guns. There were revolvers, assault rifles, shotguns, and a few other things that Rem didn't linger on for long. "Actually, Mike, I'm here fer that an' some other thangs." While Rem didn't entertain the love bird comment, Maggy furrowed her eyebrows and almost answered. She stopped herself, however, not wanting to interrupt what Rem was here to do. Mike set down a handgun he was working on, which was a beat up Beretta M9. It had scratches all over it and even looked dented in some places, but as long as it fired and fired true, it looked like an item that could be sold. "What else are you looking for?" Rem began, "Well, ya see, Joey just got hisself a mare, and mah father taught me how tah ride. If I get it, I can get home real fast. I was wonderin' if ya wanted tah buy the guns. I won't sell the armor though." Mike tilted his head up as Rem began telling him what they were. "It's a Marlin 1894 and a Winchester 1887 an' I g- - " Mike cut him off. "I know what they are." It hit Rem that Mike had had the guns since the day his father was killed, and he no doubt knew what they were. They were 1894 and 1887 models but they'd been built recently, and he also noticed that the two weapons were versions that had been improved on since they stopped being manufactured way the hell back when.

"How much do you need for the mare?" Rem gulped, knowing that whatever Mike's answer was after he told him the price, it wouldn't be good. "Five thousand caps. But uh, I also have a .357 revolver on me. It idn't in as good condition as the rifle an' shotgun but it fires straight and it dudn't jam. I got ammo for all o' it, too." Mike sighed, "I don't have more than two thousand caps to spend on all of this." From what Rem could tell, he was willing to deal those two thousand caps, however. "The rifle and shotgun are in perfect condition and if you throw the revolver in," he paused, thinking about it, knowing full well that the three guns together with the ammo would sell for more than two thousand caps out there. He couldn't really bring himself to screw the kid over, however. "It's all worth more than two thousand caps." The boy stared at him for a few moments and then breathed out again, realizing how bad the outlook was. "Around how much is it worth?" Mike started putting the Beretta away and waved his hand dismissively, "Never mind that, I'll go talk to Joey. Come on, let's go." Once the weapon was set away, he stepped forth and Rem followed. Maggy watched Rem walk and then began following, too, silently dreading his departure even then.

"Are you sure you can handle a horse?" The young man nodded, "Positive, Mike. I'd be there faster 'an you can blink." When they arrived at Joey's ranch, they all saw that he was outside in the horse stalls. From where they were, Mike could see the horse, and Joey could see them. He came out to meet Mike's party outside, knowing what they were here to talk about. "What's on yer mind, Michael?" Mike stopped in front of him and folded his arms in front of his chest. "Well, do you think you can do four thousand?" Joey pressed his lips together in dissapproval, "See, I already cut the price down from six tah five. Another thousand is real heavy." Rem's blue eyes looked from one to the other as they spoke, and so did Maggy. "I don't mean to come on strong, Joey, but way I see it, we owe the kid. I mean, he lost his dad helping us out with the raiders and if they'd never come around, Wesley could have done some damage." Joey didn't seem too pleased despite how courteously Mike had put it, "Well shit, if a thousand caps ain't enough contribution in yo' mind, yew need a screwdriver for them loose screws." He spun his index finger next to his temple to gesture his statement, and then added, "Why don'tcha ask the rest of the town if they wanna pitch in in dat case?" Michael sneered, but it wasn't because he felt Joey was wrong. He was definitely right about his stance. A thousand caps was a great contribution. Likely more than anybody in this town could or even would give. While he ruminated, Joey continued, "Sorry kid, nothin' personal. I jest can't afford tah lose that many caps." Rem waved his hand, "It's awright, Joey. Thank yew fer tryin'." Joey nodded, feeling a tinge of regret in his chest when he heard that thanks. Unfortunately for Rem, he remained resolute.

Michael spoke, "Well, we'll see what we come up with. If we came up with four, do you think you could let me pay the rest of it in payments?" Joey shrugged his shoulders and responded hesitantly, "I . . . guess." Mike added before he could take back his words, "You know I'm good for it. Shouldn't take me more than a month to pay that sum back to you." Joey started nodding, and then Mike turned to look at Rem. "Well, I can give you three thousand caps for the shotgun, the marlin, the revolver and the ammo. A thousand of those caps I'd pay to Joey in time." As they worked things out, Joey cut in, "Yer still two thousand caps behind, though." Mike nodded, "Yeah, I know. I'm going to take up your idea and go around asking townsfolk if they want to donate." That was when Joey got another idea, "Hey. Hasn't anyone gone tah see if Hector left any caps lyin' aroun'? I mean, not tah be rude or nothin' but if the guy's dead and so is the rest of his family, I don't see why the kid here couldn't use whatever caps are there." "Shit," Michael answered, "Hadn't thought of that. I'll go check the place out. See what I can find." Joey added, "Wesley, too. Go have a gander. Nobody gives a shit, I think." Michael nodded, "Good idea. Alright, you stay here, Rem. Get to know the horse." He nodded and watched as Michael walked away, and then turned to Joey. "Again, thank yew for helpin' me sir." Joey waved his hand, "Michael's right. We owe ya somethin'. Anyway, c'mon, meet Louise."

As he was following Joey, he turned his head to the side and glanced at Maggy. There was a pensive look in her eye, so much that she didn't notice he was staring for a while. "Somethin' wrong, Maggeh?" His voice snapped her out of it. The focus returned to her pupils and they settled on his countenance, "Oh no Remy, I was just zoned out, I guess." Rem nodded, smiling, "Ever ridden a horse before?" She shook her head at him. "It's fun," he assured, and she nodded this time as they entered the stall. The smell of dung was the most intense scent to greet them. When Joey smelled it, he smirked as he began to speak. He'd been so ready to say it since he discovered the mare's name. "Jeez Louise! She dropped a big juicy one, awright." He took off his hat and fanned at the mare, as if that was going to get rid of the smell entirely. Rem just chuckled, and Maggy made a funny face as she pinched her nostrils closed. "Anyway," Joey began, "She's ten years old. I was told she's mellow. Ya know, I almost got a stallion instead. If I had, you woulda been shit outta luck. Ain't no way I'd let ya ride home on one o' them." As the young man listened, he stepped closer, "So why didn'tcha get the stallion?" The hat found its place on Joey's head again as he answered, "Too few people out there are experienced wit' horses, so when them inexperienced people want somethin', they want somethin' manageable. Mares sell faster 'an stallions 'cause they's more mellow." Both Rem and Maggy were learning here. Maggy had seen horse movies before but none of it had ever taught her this much.

As they spoke, Louise was munching on hay. She looked calm enough. "She's beautiful, ya know. Bit o' hair loss but they popped her full o' radaway 'fore they sold her tah me so she'll be fine." The farmer glanced at her for a few more moments and breathed out, as if in conclusion, "Awright, I'ma get her out into the pen tah see if yew can handle her or not." Rem gulped and nodded, stepping back as Joey opened the stall. He reached in and grabbed the reins, guiding her out of there. When Louise paced by right in front of the two young teens, they each got a feel for how big and strong the animal was. At the very least, it wasn't something he hadn't felt before. "What kinda horse did yer dad have?" As he followed with Maggy in tow, Rem answered, "She was a mare. Mah dad said she was mellow, too, an' reliable when there was trouble." Joey nodded his head a few times as they exited the stalls, "That's the kinda horse yew wanna have. But ya know, horses are very . . . how do ya say," he searched for the right word, " . . . _attuned _to the rider. If yer scared, they're scared. If yer frustrated, they're frustrated. So ya wanna stay calm 'round them."

Eventually, they stepped into the pen and Rem closed the gate behind him. As for Maggy, she started to think about how she never really paid the horses much mind until now. "So, kid, how much did yer father teach ya?" Rem stepped close, "I can mount and dismount easy. I can walk her and I can trot, too, but I've never galloped by mahself." Joey seemed like he'd heard something good. "Awright, go ahead an' mount." Rem nodded and as he walked, Maggy stayed behind this time. "Careful, Remy," she commented. Joey couldn't help but smirk, "He'll be awright." The boy assured her, too, "Yeah, I done this before, Maggeh. I'll be fine." Joey watched as Rem mounted from the left side by sticking his left foot in the stirrup, and continued looking as he hoisted himself up and sat down softly without kicking Louise with the leg he threw over. "Good, good," he commented, as Rem took the reins and wrapped them around his hand to eliminate slack. He didn't tug, however, and his reward was that Louise remained calm during the entire process, and Rem was free to position himself comfortably. Both of his feet went into the stirrups and then he straightened his posture so that his heels, his hips, and his shoulders were aligned. Joey was starting to feel convinced now while Rem started to feel the difference of standing on the ground and sitting on top of such a large, powerful animal, high off the ground. He hadn't done this in a while so it felt alien to an extent, but there was a bit of familiarity, and that kept him composed.

"Okay, yew know how to git on. Walk her. Do ya remember how? Do ya remember how tah steer?" Rem nodded firmly and squeezed the horse's sides with his calves. The mare didn't respond, so he did it again. An awkward silence ensued as she did nothing, and then Rem essentially kicked her with his calves and commanded, "Come on, girl." The awkardness was broken when she started pacing forward with a gentle walk. Joey watched and nodded, eyebrows raised high. He was pleased but he didn't forget that Rem was a kid and that he hadn't spent enough time with Louise to know her cons. "Lookin' good," he commented, following after them. As Maggy looked up at the young man on the horse, she remained silent, lost in her thoughts. Somehow, he looked so much older than he looked when he was standing on the ground. His back was straight, his heels were pointed down, and his body swayed with the horse's movement. When he'd gone far enough, he held the reins up towards his chest and pulled back gently, knowing that tugging at this angle could hurt the horse's mouth and cause her to rear violently. Instead, she reared gently and began pacing in the direction they'd come from. "Atta girl," he said, and lowered the reins to hip level and tugged with a bit of firmness this time, causing her to stop her walk. "I'm already startin' tah like her, Joey." He couldn't help but start to feel a little excited that this might be his horse eventually. His dad had one at some point and he was more than enthusiastic about having one of his own.

"Do ya feel up tah tryin' a trot?" Rem nodded firmly, "Sure thang." His calves squeezed and he gestured forward with his weight. It came so naturally and in response to that, Louise easily began pacing forward. A few moments later, he uttered, "Go girl," and he squeezed her with his calves again. She immediately started to move faster and even though Rem suddenly felt uneasy, he did what his father had taught him to do. He lifted and lowered his body in rhythm with the horse, keeping himself from bouncing on her back. _One two, one two, _Rem counted in his head. As he moved around the pen, steering her to his left fluidly, he smirked. There were no words to describe the elation he felt. Riding a horse was beautiful. "Nice job!" Joey yelled from a distance, unable to follow alongside anymore. He and Maggy watched as Rem trotted around the pen a few times. "Awright kid, bring it in," the farmer commanded. From a distance, Rem glanced at him with a pair of eyes that looked like he wasn't all there. At least, in the sense of the world outside him and the horse. As he was trotting along, he started to feel so confident, and then he started to think about the next step. What was it again? He trotted for a few more moments while Joey watched. Again, he called, "Kid! Bring it in." Rem glanced at him and glanced away again, and that was when the two of them realized he had something else in mind. _Hell no, _Joey thought, wondering if Rem's intention was to run off with the horse.

A few moments later, Rem remembered. The next step was the canter, and so he turned his head to look at the horse's shoulders. When he took what he needed from that, he sat back in the saddle and kicked the horse's sides again. This time, he didn't speak, and immediately, the horse picked up the pace. Joey realized that he was doing and yelled, "Hey!" He was clearly angry now, "Yer head's gonna be mush if yew fall off!" As Joey yelled, Maggy just got scared, and joined in, "Remy! Be careful! Listen to Joey!" Rem ignored the two of them and got so terrified when Louise began cantering that he regretted it. "Sssssshit," he uttered, grabbing Louise's white mane with one hand and holding the reins firmly with the other. He almost tugged but he stopped himself, knowing that could be disastrous. "Oh fuck, fuck," he said, raising his rear off the saddle, leaning forward into it. When they reached the gate of the pen, he suddenly anticipated something absolutely terrifying. Joey seemed to anticipate the same thing, "Hey! Hey! Stop the fucking horse right now, ya hear?" By then, Joey's voice was in the background and Rem pushed his right leg into the horse's side, tugging with his left hand at the same time to the left. The horse listened, thankfully, and turned. She started cantering along the pen fence as Rem swayed on top of the saddle, back and forth, like he was on a rocking chair. When Joey saw that Rem had averted a disaster by keeping the horse from possibly jumping over the fence and then keeping it under control afterwards, he went silent, but damn he was still furious.

As Rem rounded the two of them, he waved at them, "Sorreh! I got it under control!" Joey sneered, "Git yer ass over here _now_!" This time, Rem listened, tugging back on the reins at hip level to slow down the motion. The horse went from cantering to trotting, and then to a walk that ultimately led him right to Joey. When they arrived, he pulled back one final time and Louise stopped. Joey approached, "Jesus kid, when I say stop, yew fuckin' stop, understand?" Rem lifted his right leg off and dismounted. When he did, he felt something slapping him in the back of the head. "Ow, shit Joey, I said sorry," he complained as the perpetrator grabbed Louise by the reins. Maggy spoke, "Serves you right." Rem glanced at her, smiling. "Sorry, I just had tah try it. I prolly won't be trottin' all the way home anyway. An' what if we're bein' chased? I might have tah go into full gallop." Joey sucked his teeth and spoke, "Shit, maybe I ain't sellin' ya the horse anymore. Dumb ass." Rem stayed silent, watching as Joey took Louise into the stalls. "Well, that wudn't so bad," he said, looking at Maggy. After a few moments of just staring at him, she spoke, "I wanted to ride with you, too. But now Joey's not going to let us." She turned away from him and started walking, prompting him to call after her, "Aw shit, Maggy, I didn't think ya woulda wanted to. I'm sorry." She continued walking as he followed behind her, "Yeah well, the world doesn't revolve around you, Remy."

He was trying to keep up with her when suddenly, a gunshot reverberated through town. The three of them stopped. Rem and Maggy turned their heads outwards, looking in the direction they'd heard it from and Joey did the same thing. "Shit, what was that?" Rem asked. "We gotta go check it out." When Joey watched Rem and Maggy run out the pen gate, he led Louise into her stall and ran into his house, picking out his shotgun and running back out towards where he'd heard the gun shot. A few moments, later, they heard another one. Rem's eyebrows raised and Maggy was silent, trying her best to decipher the direction, until they found it. It was Wesley's house, and there were already a few people outside. One of them was an old man that he hadn't been introduced to yet, but a guy that had been to his father's burial. He wore a pair of blue jeans with a red button up, and he had a long mustache pointing outwards. "Cecil, what's happening!" The old man turned around and looked at them, "You kids stay back!" They didn't listen of course. When they reached him, Maggy spoke again, this time noticing that Cecil had his revolver in hand. "Cecil, what's happening?" The old man glanced at them as Remy got close to the door and peeked inside. "Hey, get out of there!" Rem glanced at the old man and backed away. "It's Fina. She's lost her marbles."

As Michael stood behind a wall in cover, he still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Fina had just shot at him. And over Wesley, apparently. Though every fiber of his being begged and yelled for him to return fire and not stop until she was dead, there was a rope, no, a _string, _of reason holding him back. "Fina, put your fucking gun down or I'm going to start shooting back! Stop this childish bullshit before something we'll all regret happens!" Rem and Maggy both listened to the yelling, which told them, half way at least, what was going on. "Listen to him, Fina! We don't want for someone else to end up dead!" The second voice belonged to someone other than Michael. Brandon was in there as well. "Fuck you! Both of you! Is this what you people will do when someone dies? Break into their houses and look for loot? That isn't the image you all painted for me when you invited me to live in this shit hole!" Michael gritted his teeth and grunted angrily, "Didn't you hear what Wesley did? He was working with the Raiders to loot the town once all of us were dead! He killed the Ranger, too!" When she heard that, another gunshot echoed through the house. Michael flinched away from the wall he was up against and when he looked back, he saw a hole there. "How are you even sure? Were you there? Did you see it with your own two eyes? You're all forgetting the stuff Wesley went through with us as a community, like the time he fought off those guys from the Vipers gang, or the time he taught me how to make poison antidote for Hector! That wasn't fake! But you guys won't even take the time to consider that!"

As Rem listened, he felt frustrated again. He remembered the time she doubted what Wesley had done in his presence. As they all stood there, Cecil looked over his shoulder and turned around, "Now now, Jasmine, remain calm." When everyone else turned around to see, they each saw Jasmine, Barbara, and Joey all approaching, but Jasmine was carrying a shotgun. "I've lost one man in my life before and I don't plan on losing another one without a say Cecil, now if you know what's good for you, you'll step aside." She wasn't yelling but there was an underlying fervor in her words that left them all thoroughly surprised. Nobody had seen her like this before, and though it was pretty clear the situation didn't need any more aggression injected into it, it was understandable that she was acting this way. Rem on the other hand, who had little to no clue what it had been like when she lost her husband, was just shocked to see such a caring, motherly woman being so assertive in a time like this. Cecil didn't step out of the way, however, but it was pretty apparent in his body language that he wasn't anywhere near as motivated as she was. After a few moments pause, she pumped the shotgun and reiterated, "Stand aside, Cecil." Joey spoke, "What the hell's goin' on anyway?" Jasmine snapped her head at him and answered, "All I know is that Fina's in there waving a gun at my son and I'm not going to stand on the sidelines until something goes wrong." She stepped forward, looking to push past Cecil when Barbara grabbed her shoulder. Joey did the same, but he spoke, too, "If we're gonna do somethin' Jasmine, let's not step in through the front door. She'll see it comin'. Let's go 'round back." She glanced at him with a very stern approval, and when he started walking around the house, she followed.

"God damn it, Fina! Why are you being so stubborn!" This time, she didn't answer, and Michael went silent in thought. His heart was racing and so was his breath, but even though he was angry out of his mind, he couldn't shake the need to get out of the situation without killing her. "Damn it, fine, Fina. Step back into the room and we'll get the hell out of here. Does that sound good?" Fina was in the living room, crouched behind a table she'd turned over, and was pointing from the room furthest from her, which was where Michael was, and then to the kitchen, which was where Brandon was. After a few moments, however, she caved, "Fine! Don't come out until I'm inside or I swear I'll shoot!" Michael nodded deeply a few times even though she couldn't see it, "Whatever! Brandon, do as she says!" Brandon yelled in reply, "Alright!" With that, Fina took her chance to stand. Then she started moving towards the room. When she was inside, she slammed the door shut, and Michael emerged from the room he'd been holed up in. When he exited, Brandon followed him out. Cecil immediately spoke to them, "Jasmine and Joey are out back fixin' tah blindside her, Michael." Michael immediately began running around the house and Brandon followed. "Mom! Stop!" Michael yelled, as he felt a sense of dread creeping over him. God damn it, was this really going to happen? When he rounded the corner, he saw his mother and Joey peeking through a window, and he released a huge sigh of relief when he realized he could stop them from doing anything brash. "Michael! Are you alright?" She left where she was standing and began pacing towards him. Joey followed, and Michael replied, "Yes, mom." He looked at the shotgun in her hand and just felt so surprised to see that. "Let's go. She needs some time to herself." Jasmine's eyes intensified, "No way I'm letting that bitch live. She's trouble, Michael. We have to get rid of her." Michael responsed tersely, "_**No.**_ Now, let's get out of here. I don't want anyone else dying. We've had enough of that lately." He approached her and took the shotgun away from her moments before walking away. She glanced at him and though it irritated her how abruptly the weapon had been taken away from her, she didn't say anything.

When they rounded to the front, Michael spoke, "Everyone go. It's not safe to be around here right now. Fina's lost it." Cecil holstered his weapon and as the group convened, they started walking away. Joey glanced back at the house in caution and eventually, he saw Fina step between the door frame of the front door and slam it shut. The sound got everyone to turn around, and when they saw the door was closed, they just kept walking. Barbara spoke, "What were you doing in Wesley's place anyway?" Joey was going to answer for Michael but Michael beat him to it, "We're trying to raise up some money for Rem. He wants to buy a horse from Joey and we figured that since Wesley's gone and so is Hector and his family, Rem could use any caps that are lying around." Cecil felt oddly about it but not enough to get angry over. It did sound odd that in the end, however, it wouldn't be Rem who'd get the caps. It'd be Joey. Jasmine glanced at them in the same fashion that Barbara was glancing at them suddenly, but she was way too caught up with the fact that her son had almost been murdered just now to even start asking questions about another subject. "You're going to sell Rem a horse?" she asked, glancing at Joey. She knew why Rem wanted a horse. "Aren't you guys thinking about how he can get hurt?" She sounded irritated and protective, but before things could go further, Rem cut in. "Mah father taught me how tah ride, Mrs. Quinn. I won't fall off. 'Sides, I really need to get tah mom. Oh an' Joey saw me ride. He knows I can do it." She turned her eyes to Joey immediately and suddenly, Joey felt like he was on the spot. He knew she wanted him to disagree but frankly, the kid _could _ride a horse. "Uh, yes, he can ride a horse Barbara." Barbara stopped walking and her voice went up a few decibels, "Can't you guys see it's not safe? He's too damn young to be traveling alone." Joey immediately held up his hands, as if he were withdrawing. "I dunno. I didn't come up with the idea, Barbara. 'Sides, I don't even think Michael found the caps." All eyes turned to Michael, who glanced around at everyone. "I . . . did, actually. There's enough."

As everyone stood there, Barbara reached up and rubbed her temples. "It still doesn't make it okay." Again, Rem cut in, "Mrs. Quinn, I _have _tah do this. I _have _tah git home, fer my mother's sake. I can't let my mother suffer not knowin' what's happened here, and I promise I'll make it. On a horse, nothin' can catch me, and I won't have tah worry about huntin' fer food too much 'cause I'll get there so fast." She shook her head, "Your mother wouldn't approve." The boy breathed out, "She prolly wouldn't but she doesn't know what happened. I have tah get home, Mrs. Quinn. And not tah sound like I don't appreciate everythang yew done for me but . . . I'm not goin' tah let yew stop me, even if yew don't support me." His voice got louder at times, but throughout the entire time, he sounded sincere, like he believed his words absolutely but at the same time, didn't want to offend her. "Thank yew so much fer what ya done fer me. I'll never be able tah thank yew enough Mrs. Quinn, but I'm goin'." With that, he turned to Michael and spoke, "If there's anythin' left over, keep it so you can use it tah pay Joey those extra caps you owe him for all of this." Michael nodded while Joey, Jasmine, Cecil and Maggy just stared on. "Other 'an that, I'm leavin' today."


	7. Journey

Note: Since the people who've been reading the story will likely never visit the first page again, I'll be adding little notes like this one on new chapters that I write. First off, sorry to those who've been reading this for taking such a while to write. I've got a lot of stuff on my plate. Second, please comment! Whether it's bad or good, I'd deeply appreciate it. = ) Thanks a lot guys. Enjoy.

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 7th 12:26 AM.**

**2264**

When it was time, the townsfolk who'd been well acquainted with Rem all convened where he was going to leave, which was from Joey's stables. Jasmine and Mike were there, and so was Barbara and Maggy. Brandon had come, too, and Joey was in the process of bringing Louise out of the stall while everyone was helping him with preparations. Rem was knelt down on the floor, packing his father's armor into a bag while Maggy stared at him from the background, not really doing anything. Nothing aside from thinking, at least. When Joey brought the horse out and tied her to a post, he approached the others. "Well kid, the town's helpin' ya out with supplies. Food enough for five days an' water enough for . . . who knows? Hopefully almost a week, since Louise is gonna have tah get a drink every once in a while, too. We also packed some apples, peanuts, hay, and some of them sugar cubes Jasmine makes. Should be enough. Yew can let her eat some grasses along the way if yew see any."

As Rem finished packing, he stood up and nodded a few times. "Awright." After that, he carried his bag towards the horse and, with Joey's help, tied it on. Brandon brought up the second bag, the one with the food supplies, and tied it on as well. "Got something else for you," Rem heard. It was Michael. When he glanced at the adult man who'd been so helpful to him during his stay, he was holding out a gun. It was the same beat up Beretta M9 he'd seen Mike working on earlier that day. "It's got fifteen shots in the clip. Use them wisely, or not at all." Rem glanced up at him and even though he felt a bit of shame in taking it, he couldn't help but do it. He took it into his hand and holstered it on his hip, because he'd put on the belt strap with the holster even though he didn't have a gun. It fit well enough. "Thanks Mike. Sure gonna feel easier with this." Mike nodded and patted his head, ruffling his hair a bit before glancing in the direction that Rem's eyes trailed off to. Barbara had her hands crossed under her breasts and Maggy was just standing there, beside her, just watching.

With a breath, he began walking towards the two of them. "Well, I guess this is goodbye, ma'am. Thanks for everythang." As he spoke, he looked from one to the other. When his eyes settled on Maggy, he smiled, "Yew too, Maggeh. Thanks." He began leaning in, almost hesitantly, like he was worried she might reject him for leaving so suddenly, but she leaned in as well and the two of them hugged. She wanted to kiss him, but her mother's presence suppressed the impulse. It was such a bittersweet sensation when his arms unfurled from her, and she watched him as he went and hugged her mother, too. Barbara squeezed him tightly and gave him some advice, "Come back if it gets bad out there. Just make sure safety is your first priority." He didn't answer, so she let go and looked down at his face. "Okay?" Rem's blue eyes stared up at her and he nodded after a while, "Yes ma'am."

Turning away, he began walking towards the horse, and his stay suddenly felt short lived. Well, perhaps not short lived, but like there were still things he should have done before leaving. Before the feeling could be allowed to fester and grow into something he didn't need, he thought about the task at hand and vanquished everything else by doing so. Joey's eyes were angled down at him, "Yew ready, kid?" Rem nodded assertively and turned around again, speaking with a high tone of voice so everyone could hear him. "Thanks everyone, I really appreciate everythang ya'll done fer me." Michael answered, "Come back and see us sometime, alright?" When Maggy heard that, she felt a pang of warmth in her chest, glad that someone had said what she'd wanted to say the entire time. "I will," Rem answered. Of course he'd be back some time, if at least to see his father's grave. Then he turned around, untied the highwayman's hitch that Joey had worked into the pole to keep the horse there, and mounted. Louise paced a bit and turned to her right as he seated himself comfortably. "Wish me luck, everyone." His eyes drifted from one of them to the rest of them. "Good luck, kid," said Michael. Joey nodded his head once, Brandon smiled, and so did Barbara and Maggie.

"Hyah," he said, kicking the sides of the horse with his calves. Louise began trotting towards the opening of the gate and when he exited, he waved his hand around for everyone behind him to see. "Bye Remy!" Maggie yelled. As he rode into the distance, he smiled at the sound of her voice, and when he was a good ways away, Maggie looked at the others, realizing that they were all just kind of . . . dissipating. Brandon had gone his own way and so had Michael. Joey went on towards the stables and Barbara, eventually, pulled at her shoulders to come along as well. "I'll meet you at home, mom," she said. Barbara gave her a glance. That knowing glance. Maggie looked up at her and Barbara smiled. Her daughter had a crush, and while that was cute, she knew it was harmless, because they both just lived far, far too away from each other. She didn't have the heart to break it to her little sweetheart, however. "Okay," she answered, and started walking away in her own direction, thinking about how her daughter was growing up so fast.

Once everyone had just fanned out, Maggie walked up to the wooden pen and climbed up on it, sitting on the top pole, just glancing out towards Rem's back. She could still see him there in the distance, and her eyes didn't move away, didn't even blink, until he sunk beyond the reach of her eyes. She tried to look harder when it happened, but when she saw nothing, her lips curled downward into a frown. She set her elbows on her thighs and her chin on her hands then, just staring at the direction he'd disappeared to, thinking about how it felt like he was still within reach. Somehow, she even felt like she could talk to him and he'd be able to hear it. Could he? If she yelled at the top of her lungs, would he hear her? Probably. Before she worked up the stupidity to try, she got off the pen and started walking away, looking down towards the floor as she did. It was hard for her to think that just like that, he was gone.

As he traveled along, he kept remembering what it was like to travel with his father. He'd always been told that a trot and canter combination was perfectly fit for traveling, but he needed to go a long, long distance in one day and he needed for the horse to preserve energy, because if they ended up being chased by some wasteland predator, sustaining a gallop for a long way was important. No way he wanted to end up being crisped by a fire gecko. Or, in a worst case scenario, he didn't need to be stalked by a Deathclaw. He'd been told stories from Desert Rangers who'd encountered the large, lanky creatures about how they had all the patience in the world to slowly and deliberately stalk prey throughout fairly long distances, and from what he knew, a horse could only sustain a full gallop for around a mile and a half. His father had done it before. And a Deathclaw would just be . . . a horrible thing to encounter right about now. Or any time, rather, but worse now because he didn't have the know-how of his father to help him stay safe.

Somewhere along his path, however, he found just the right opportunity to momentarily forsake everything he was worried about and realize how much nicer traveling was when he was riding a horse. It hit him quite suddenly, too. His head tilted back ever so slightly and his eyes opened up a little wider as well. Then he just looked around at everything, glancing deeply in every direction and then watching closely in his immediate area, watching things pass him by. "Atta girl," he uttered. It came naturally so it wasn't until after that he realized it was something his father used to say to his horse as well. Back then he didn't pay it much mind but now that he was riding a horse through the wasteland himself, he understood it. He was building up his own customary habits of staying in control, of keeping her calm. It helped him stay calm, too.

The minutes turned to hours very quickly for him. When nightfall started to descend upon the Mojave wasteland, he began looking for places to set up camp. There were actually plenty of them to choose from but it wasn't as easy as simply picking one and going right on in. He had to do some scouting. He had to really stand by on the horse and survey a locale for a long few minutes as closely as possible to ascertain that there wasn't anybody already there, sleeping or . . . waiting. After he did that, he kicked the horse gently with his calves and spoke, "That place there looks fine, Louise." She began walking in the direction of one of the many pre war buildings that hadn't withstood the test of bombs and time, and as they grew closer, he drew his 9mm Beretta and kept ready to fire. Upon arrival, he did more scouting on horse back, and once it felt safe, he dismounted and tied Louise down to a sturdy pipe that was portruding from one of the walls. "I'll be back, Louise," he said, as he ventured into the establishment and did some further investigation.

This wasn't the first time he'd gone into a place like this. He'd gone into many with his father, and the one thing he was always told to worry about was traps. So when he tread inside, not only did he hold his Beretta in his hand at the ready, he kept himself low, quieted his footsteps, and looked at the ground and ceiling very, very closely. Everything seemed safe enough as he looked through the rooms one by one, closing doors half way behind him just as an obstruction for anything that might follow him inside. It looked like whatever had been here, of worth at least, had already been looted, and nobody had left anything else behind. When he arrived at the final room to survey he closed in carefully and as he looked closely, he saw something very thin spanning the length of the door frame. "Shit," he whispered, as he lowered down to take a closer look. It was a trip wire, through and through, and it was actually very surprising. Probably because usually, it was his father who located them, and he just stayed on the sidelines, but this time, it was his problem and his problem alone.

SIlently, he asked himself what it was connected to. In times before, it'd been many things. Grenade bouqets and even swinging support beams but this time, he found that it was a fire extinguisher. He'd seen this before many times, and just like all those times, he was sure the tank was filled with something more explosive than originaly intended by its pre war fabricators. The next action came instinctively because he'd seen his father do it so many times before, but he was still terrified. The line needed to be cut without putting pressure on it. Without pulling at whatever it was rigged to, but all he had was a knife. So . . . he was going to have to cut the line, back and forth, very delicately, until the wire fell apart, and he started doing just that. With one hand, he grabbed the wire to keep it in place and with the other, he began pushing the blade back and forth, careful not to get greedy about how much he cut with each stroke. _Yew can cut back and forth a thousand times if ya have to, Rem, _he told himself. Then suddenly, the rope broke into two, and he listened ever so intently, eyes moving from one side to the other. Nothing.

When he stood up and holstered his knife just beside his right ankle, under his pants, he wondered . . . _Wait a minute, why didn't I just leave it be? _The reason why people trapped rooms like this was usually because there was loot to be had. So with that, he stepped right in, still careful, fully aware that there could still be mines. The cabinets and the desk that were out to be seen immediately wasn't what he was looking for, no. He was looking for something hidden under the desk, tucked behind the cabinets, something of that nature, and eventually, he found what any seasoned scavenger would be looking for. There was a foot locker tucked behind two cabinets. After examining carefully for traps, he pushed one out of the way and dragged the foot locker out with a loud, metallic drag. "What ya got?" he whispered as he undid the fasteners and pushed it open. "Woah . . . " he said in utter bewilderment. What lay in front of him was a lever action rifle, of all things. The iron from which it was made was black. Light didn't reflect off of it enough to cause problems out in the field, and the dark walnut stock it'd been outfitted with didn't betray the stealthy intent of its fabrication. Immediately, he sat himself down with his legs crossed and began examining the weapon.

First, he was interested in the types of bullets it fired, and that much was easy to find out because there was a buttstock cartridge holder slung over the walnut stock, loaded. The rounds were enormous. Bigger than the 44 magnum that his father's Marlin fired, and they were flat nosed. He didn't even want to think about what a round like that could do to a person's head. The next hing he tested was the lever action, and whether or not it was smooth. It wasn't, by any means, likely because it'd been here for a long, long time. The next thing he checked was the barrel itself, and how clean it was. Looked like there were a ton of debris in there that needed purging. Furthermore, it was a little difficult to push bullets into the loading chamber. "Piece o' shit," he uttered. "Wonder why they'd go through so much to hide this thang." He came close to just dropping it back into the foot locker when he hesitated, thinking about what his father would have done. He would have taken it with him and fixed it, so he decided to do the same.

Louise neighed calmly when he emerged from the establishment. Looked like nothing was wrong, so he began gathering materials for a fire, which he wasn't all too keen on doing. Where there's a fire, there's smoke, and smoke could lead problems straight to you. But then again, horses, though not typically used for detection, were actually very useful in that sense. They got uneasy when something was approaching. So he decided to go through with it, and started a fire eventually. Once the fire was burning and once Louise was eating some hay, he began setting his bed up next to the fire, because the desert could be very, very cold once the sun went down. While he ate, he glanced up to the sky and took a good, long look at it. There were few stars, here and there, which he'd been taught to use to navigate. His eyes dragged down from the sky to the direction he was headed, glancing at the stars, and continued chewing. _I'll git home soon, mah, _he assured himself, and threw what was left of his food away to lie down and try to get some sleep. Surprisingly, sleep came in and swept him off into the land of dreams quicker than he'd expected it to. Traveling was tiring.

While he was asleep, he heard some alien shifting that eventually caused him to wake up. A large pair of lips flapped as Louise raspberried, and then she paced to one side and then the next. Rem's eyes opened slowly, calmly, "What is it, Louise?" he asked with a groggy voice, hoisting himself up from his sleeping bag. He paced towards her and as he did, he looked outward into the distance. It was still dark and the moon was hanging in the skies to the east, shining its pale luminescence onto the Mojave. "Nothin's there," he comforted, glancing at Louise's face as he rubbed the side of her cheek. Then he turned back to look and every muscle in his body froze. A chill crawled up his spine and caused him to shudder. There in the distance, on top of a sand hill with the moon in the backdrop, stood a jostling figure shadowed over by the moonshine. It was tall, hunched forward, and it had long, long arms with fingers tipped by an impressive quintet of claws. He responded to it in utter silence, with thoughts, with dread, and no words at all as he inwardly scrambled over what he should do.

It moved after a while, but much to his surprise, it wasn't in his direction. It moved away from him, back down the sand hill on the other side, and he stood absolutely stupified for a moment before he heard his father's voice yelling in his head. _Move it_! He turned away and jogged to the fire and began picking up some of his belongings. Among them, the rifle, and he hastily threw the stuff into the larger bags that Louise had tied onto her body. After that, he threw his foot over the stirrup and hoisted himself up, throwing his leg over Louise's back. When he was firmly sitting, he grabbed the reins and tugged to his right gently, kicking Louise's sides to get her to hurry without making a sound. After that, he whipped the reins and kicked her sides, and she immediately began moving. The sounds of her horseshoes caused him to wince and look back to the sand hill. For a few moments, there was nothing, but then he heard some scratching. The scratching started to sound like thuds in the sand, but when that enormous creature erupted from behind that sand hill with its arms held out to its sides, with its claws open wide, and its horns pointed right at them, his eyes widened and he yelled, now aware that it had been the sound of its feet carrying it in his direction. "Hyah!" He kicked Louise's sides roughly and she erupted into a gallop while he lifted his rear off the saddle. Louise picked up speed while Rem's perception slowed, and the idea that he had never gone into a full gallop didn't even register.

_We're too slow_, he realized. There was no way they'd be at full speed quickly enough to get away so without a second thought, his right hand reached down to his side and wrapped around the gun, fitting his fingers over it and yanking it out straight to the Deathclaw getting closer, and pulled the trigger recklessly. He paid little mind to the way the gun flared red in the darkness of night, but noticed, in full clarity, how little those bullets achieved. They pierced the outer hide from what he could tell, but were entirely suffocated by the sheer thickness, the sheer toughness, of the Deathclaw's muscle underneath, and it wasn't stopping. That was when he started yelling loudly in fear. "Run Louise! Go! Go!" All the while, he kept pulling the trigger, barely managing to aim during Louise's gallop when suddenly, the rhythm with which she rose and lowered aligned the barrel with the Deathclaw's mouth. Rem pulled the trigger at just that moment and he heard the Deathclaw release a loud, ferocious growl of pain. His eyes flinched but when they reopened, he watched as the creature slowed. Louise continued running and as the distance between them grew, he lowered the gun and turned to look straight ahead. His mouth was open as he breathed and his eyes were just as wide. _I got away. Holy shit, I got away._ He turned back to see and when the Deathclaw was still in the distance, no longer running, he felt great relief.

He held the gallop on for over a mile, and even though he was able to see that Louise was not tired, he gently tugged back the reins and sat himself firmly into the saddle, "Woah woah, girl." His lowered energy caused her to come to a walking stop after a while. As Louise continued along, the boy turned over his shoulder and took a long glance backward, and again, there was nothing, but the encounter had left him with a paranoia that likely would not be leaving him any time soon. "Jeez . . . " he uttered, only realizing a second or two later why Louise was such a good name for a horse. "Jeez Louise," he added, shaking his head while his lips stretched into a smile. "That was close wudn't it?" Rem's hand reached out and patted one side of her neck. She neighed in return and continued pacing with her head held high. "But we're safe now," and again, he turned to look over his shoulder. "I don't think that thang will come lookin' fer us." He knew that in some cases, Deathclaws did, but he got the indication that after being shot in the mouth, it wouldn't have the enthusiasm for it.

"Louise," he said, looking around as they continued. Thoughts about how in this time of night they still needed to stop and get some sleep had already crept into his brain. "This time, no way we're stayin' in the outside. It ain't safe if it's just one person." He remembered when he and his father had a horse during their travels, they'd each switch up on guard duty. The first few nights he remembered being whacked in the face for almost falling asleep as well. It was harsh, but it taught him the importance of standing guard. "That looks like a good place," his face lifted and his chin gestured in the direction that he meant. Louise couldn't see the motion but that mattered very little to him. It was the companionship of it that did.

He managed to find a place that was acceptable after another hour of traveling, and it was a good thing because with the cold night air chewing at his cheeks and the tip of his nose, he grew less and less vigilant. However, when he got off of Louise and looked upon the establishment he'd found, he knew that regardless of how tired he was, he needed to make sure it was clear. "Okay Louise," he said, "You wait here." His voice was gentler than before, reflecting his fatigue with every word. He tied Louise to a thick, sturdy, wooden pole and thereafter, he drew out the Beretta and ventured into the establishment. The front door was made out of iron. It was withered, but it was still sturdy, and it took some strength to push it open. As it dragged open it made an annoying metallic noise that caused him to wince and stop, listening to see if it had alerted anything or anybody inside. While he waited, he considered that maybe sometimes, it was best not to use the front door. Especially when it was as noisy as this. Luckily enough, he heard nothing, and stepped inside.

It was dark. The only source of light was the moon outside, giving way in through a window and the door he'd just come through. _Don't look like nobody's here_, he thought, keeping the gun up and glancing around. Then, after a few moments, he came across a familiar contraption. A light switch connected to two wires that led to a fission battery, and a lamp. His slow, cautious steps led him to it and he flipped the switch. The bulb pulsed to life, brightening the room and showing him what there was. There was more than this room, but the hallway that led into the next area was enclosed by plywood. One of the windows also was covered by some pieces of wood, and otherwise, there were no unwanted openings. It was perfect.

Louise neighed nervously as she was led inside, but thankfully, she didn't lose control. "Easy Louise, easy," he comforted until she was inside. "It aint different from the stalls," he added, once he was tying her to a wooden post inside the wall, behind the broken drywall. After he closed the door behind them and locked it, he felt his paranoia slip fluidly away. "Now we can sleep." His eyes went small as he paced towards Louise and fed her water and hay. He didn't take anything for himself because at the time, he was much more interested in sleep than anything, and after he realized that he hadn't had the time to grab his sleeping bag when that Deathclaw caught them, he picked out a desk, laid his blanket on it, and lied down to sleep. The hard surface of the desk was bothersome but with the amount of fatigue he had, it didn't matter, because he fell asleep quicker than Louise finished eating her hay.

The sun's light crept out of its hiding place and shined its light through small openings in the window that was covered with plywood. Eventually, one of those rays landed squarely on his face, and brought the sleeping boy to life. His eyes opened and with the light immediately pestering him, he sneered and turned away, sitting up to see Louise standing there, staring at him. "Mornin'," he said, turning his face to look around everywhere else. He yawned and stood up off the desk, savoring the warmth that he'd created in his blankets, and that was when he felt raspiness in his nose. He'd caught a cold, and it could only get worse from here. That's what happens when you don't make a fire, but in the position he was in, he thought the trade off of being safe for getting sick was worth it. After a morning breakfast for both he and Louise, they were off again, cantering into the distance, only thinking about what could have happened with that Deathclaw last night.

Rem's journey lasted three days and nights when at some point in time during that fateful early morning, he began thinking about his father and the fact that he was gone, and the fact that things were going to change. He wondered what his mother's reaction was going to be, and averted the thoughts when he pictured her sobbing. He took in a deep, painful breath and released it, coughing immediately afterwards, and when he looked ahead again, he saw it. He saw Ranger Center's gates slowly coming into focus, built like the outer gates of a prison. Inside of those gates, the Center itself sat, same as it had been when he last saw it. Its walls were constructed entirely of cement and the ground within the gates, also, was entirely made of the same thing. There were five towers lining the outer gates as well, each with a sentry on guard duty equipped with some variant of sniper rifle.

_I'm here, momma_, he thought to himself. After reaching a certain distance from the front gates, he saw a red laser lining the ground, following him along. That was the cue for him to reach into one of the bags as he tugged the reins, causing Louise to slow. When his fingers felt what he was looking for, they grasped and dragged it out, holding it high over his head right afterwards. The sniper used the scope to view the object and when he saw the Desert Ranger helmet, he lowered his gun. This boy was one of them. The front gates opened afterwards and Rem stared solemnly ahead as he was approached by a Desert Ranger in full armor. There was a revolver on his right hip. "You alone?" The male, mechanical voice resonated to him as Rem dismounted and turned to look up at the green visors squarely, "Yes sir. I was with mah father, Remington Peregrine. He was killed. My mother stays here in the Center." Instantly, the Desert Ranger reached an understanding of what the situation was, and was joined shortly after by others who weren't dressed in armor. All of them, however, were armed.

Questions ensued and afterwards, Louise was taken elsewhere to be watched over and as for Rem, one of the other Rangers who had approached led him to where his mother would be. He walked the cement ground all the way to Ranger Center, which looked much, much larger up close than it did when he first laid eyes upon it a few minutes ago. Inside, the walls were sleek and the ground was made out of tile. For those who lived there, it was customary, but everyone was always aware of the fact that there was no other place, that any Desert Ranger had seen at least, that had facilities that looked as flawless as the ones at Ranger Center. "She's in weapons development," the man commented. The Ranger wore a brown hat and the stubble on his light skin made him look rugged. His brown eyes were somehow indicative of his strength, and the shaven head only added to his intimidation value.

When their steps stopped, they were each standing in front of a large double door, and on the other side, they could each hear sounds. All of it was machinery, and the sound got louder when the man pushed the door open and looked inside. There were lots of workers there, all operating machineries, crafting rifles, shotguns, ammunition, all sorts of things that Desert Rangers used. Rem dragged his eyes around the area and just when he thought he was going to have to walk in to look for his mother, he saw a woman with cropped, short blonde hair and focused blue eyes. She was caught up with work when, by chance entirely, she took a glance to the entrance to the factory and saw her son. The fact that her husband wasn't standing beside him terrified her.

The glance that ensued between them was telling. Rem's eyes began to water and so did his mother's. The understanding of it dawned on her fluidly, affecting her eyes first and then causing her mouth to contort. Then her eyebrows did, too. It all happened just like Rem imagined it would. "Mah," he said. The distance between them was enough so that she could hear his voice. Barely, but she could hear it. "Dad's gone," he said, lamenting. The regret in his tone of voice was what finally caused her to break down. The rest of the people there took a glance, pausing as the woman walked to her son and enveloped him with her arms.


	8. Three birthdays later

**Mojave Wasteland **

**August 3rd 7:43 pm **

**2267**

The dirt beneath Rem's booted feet crunched like snow under his steps as he came closer and closer to an old, run down market place somewhere in Utah's portion of the Mojave Desert. He wore a pair of black denim jeans with brown boots and on his upper body, he wore a black vest made out of kevlar over a white t shirt. The level of protection that the vest provided was modest at best, but it was something. On top of the kevlar he was wearing a beat up brown blazer with the sleeves rolled up a fourth of the way along his arms and in his hands, he carried that rifle he'd found two years and some change ago when he was headed back to Ranger Center from Brownsburough, the place his father was killed. It had been fully restored into an operational repeater, firing 45-70 government rounds. It was a little much when dealing with Raiders and other even less threatening creatures but for when he wanted to take it easy, he carried a 45 caliber pistol holstered on his left hip, and he even had a silencer for that courtesy of Ranger Center. The look was topped off with a brown hat with large brims to keep the sun out of his eyes during the day time.

Three birthdays later, the way Rem dressed had changed and it certainly affected the way he looked, but that was hardly what made the biggest difference. He'd grown a few inches and was two of them over six feet. He'd even grown some light stubble on his face, which he never made much effort to get rid of. Not that he had much of a choice anyway. In the post war world, acquiring hygienic tools and keeping facial hair neat and clean like it was some rich guy's lawn in the pre war era was the last thing on a post war man's mind. Even his eyes had changed after having seen much more bloodshed. The light in them didn't reflect the mind set of a fourteen year old boy anymore. They reflected the mind set of a seventeen year old man not only armed with guns, but armed with experience as well.

Upon arrival, his feet stopped at the front door and he stomped them a few times, kicking dust up uselessly on the old welcome mat. "Who is it?" he heard from inside. It was a woman. "Well, it aint the pizza man!" he responded, sarcastically. Not a second later, the door opened and in came Rem, glancing at the backside of a female Desert Ranger seventeen years his senior. Both of them had seen enough education to know what a pizza man was. In the days before the war, pizza parlors employed people to carry out their merchandise and deliver them at customers' doors. Funny as it was, however, it wasn't entirely supposed to be. It was also a key phrase to say it was safe to open the door. "They was Vipers. They said that the ones that came by went west, an' that they holed up in some factory there. Been there for a while, they said." While the first thought that crossed Rem's mind was definitely task-at-hand related, he'd be lying if he said that right there along with that, he hadn't been caught up with Emma's body. Even with her unrevealing style of dress of blue jeans and a black blouse, she appealed to him. For the past ten months that he'd been assigned to her for further training, he'd made his attempts to get into her panties and always failed. And those panties were usually low cuts that fit the contours of her body nicely. He knew because she'd tortured him with glimpses a few times.

"If we go to them as opposed tah waitin', we'll have ourselves an easier time," Rem commented as the door closed behind them. He locked it and turned around, watching as Emma got cozy in an old sofa that they'd dragged close to the center of the establishment. The merchandise racks had all been pushed aside to make space for what could be passed as a living room. There was a fission battery powered lamp and another piece of furniture meant to seat one person. In his fantasies, it had more than enough room for two. "You tired?" Emma's voice inquired. Rem sat down on that other chair and felt his body sinking into the comfortable fabric, setting his rifle over his lap as he did. "Naw." Emma had lied down on the couch and had kicked up her black boots on one of the arm rests. Her arms were crossed behind her head, and strands of brown hair came down to her forehead, some of them causing breaks in the vision of her green eyes. She had a round but pretty face. "Then I guess we'll be leaving here in a few minutes." Rem nodded his head deeply in acknowledgment, "Sounds gewd, ma'am." A dry smile crept across her lips knowing that when Rem called her ma'am, he was usually being playful more than anything. He was teasing her for being his superior. She figured he thought that if he kept it up, she might get comfortable enough to climb into bed with him one day.

She had ignored his poke at her and he played it off by inspecting his rifle and keeping a passive look on his face. The silence endured for a few minutes but then she finally spoke, "Something wrong with your rifle?" She knew there was nothing wrong with it, but asked just to break the silence and just to stealthily attack his modus operandi. "Naw," he answered, "But I wus taught tah stay on top of my weapons," he added as he set the rifle on his lap again. Emma saw her opportunity to strike, "Good kid." Rem didn't show it now but each time she called him a kid, it didn't quite settle right. Not because of some all-grown-up complex, but because he was constantly aware that if he was ever going to undress her, he was going to need to be looked at as more of a man than a child. Emma knew that was why it bothered him most, too. "You stay on top of that big, long rifle. Make sure it's in operating order." Rem's lips stretched into a long smile and an amused breath escaped him as he shook his head. "Yer just mad ya ain't ever had a big long repeater like mine before." Emma didn't smile, or even laugh, but she did remember telling him that the biggest caliber repeater she'd ever employed was a 44 magnum. "You're as quick with your mouth as you are to shoot." Rem stumbled a moment, not understanding exactly what she'd done but when the realization hit him that what she was saying was that his romance lasted a short amount of time before he started popping shots, he leaned back in his chair and pointed his nose up towards the ceiling, laughing heartily.

Minutes later, Rem was standing outside looking out into the surrounding distance of their locale, searching for anomalies. There was nothing, and when he set the rifle down with the butt against the dirt and his hand on the tip of the barrel, the door to the market opened behind him, and he turned to glance over his right shoulder to see Emma coming out, donning her full Desert Ranger armor. He turned ahead again and when she walked by him, he had to tilt his eyes ground ward to glance at the face of her mask. She was short, about nine inches under him, but her stature belied her toughness starkly. On her back, she carried a sniper rifle variant that had been created in Ranger Center. Though it was based on a model from way back when, the modifications it'd been given since it went into production for the Desert Rangers had been so plentiful it was no longer appropriate to call it the same rifle it was based on anymore. On her right hip, she carried a 44 magnum revolver, one she'd taken from the wastes and restored herself.

Once she was a few paces in front of him he began walking, too, following along behind her. Together, they were like a pair of security cameras equipped with night vision and a 360 degree range of sight. "How far?" Emma's voice sounded robotic from under the mask. "They said it wus some two miles away," Rem responded, carrying his rifle beside him with his right hand. The other was free to his left. "Not that far. If we wanted to get Louise, it'd take us longer," the woman concluded as Rem turned to his left to see the town that he'd visited about an hour ago in the distance. Emma had heard word of raider activity in the area and had decided to come take a look. She realized, with Rem around, that having a student to teach and look after was advantageous because she could always just send him off to do the boring work and pass it off as training. That usually included entering towns and asking around for raiders, or asking if anything else was needed. It was a load off of her.

Because of these do good missions that the Desert Rangers had been running for so long now, they had quite an amount of support but naturally, in some places, they were abhorred. In short, Desert Rangers hadn't gotten the job done before, and their failed efforts were rarely appreciated, even if they'd lost their lives. "Do we have any antivenom left?" Rem turned ahead, their steps crunching in unison as he answered, "Yeah. One dose. Should be enough." The Vipers were a religious group of Raiders that had originated from Vault fifteen along with two other tribes, one of the others being the Jackals, which were another group of raiders that occasionally caused trouble in the Mojave. The Vipers were known for their use of poisons. By and large, it was mostly the Fiends that the denizens of the Mojave had to worry about but here and there, small patches of Vipers and Jackals that had survived the brutal assaults the Brotherhood and the NCR unleashed on them gave the Desert Rangers something to do.

"You should have tried to get more in town," Emma scolded. Rem was glancing sidelong at something he thought moved, but when he ascertained that it was just the wind carrying a dry branch in its gusts, he turned ahead and answered, "Them Vipers always have sum in their bases anyway. Dumb asses prolly poison themselves more 'an they do outsiders." While Emma knew that was true, she hadn't survived this long purely on assumptions. She had survived this long playing it safely. "I don't care," she responded, clearly irritated. "As soon as you found out we were dealing with Vipers, you should have stocked up on antivenom." Rem's eyes went small and he tilted his head down, disappointed, "Yer right. Sorry ma'am." This time, the ma'am was delivered appropriately. "Won't happen again." The veteran Desert Ranger didn't say a thing after that, letting Rem wallow in the silence of not being reassured that everything was okay. It was her way of letting him know she was pissed, which usually meant that she was going to treat him like fresh meat throughout the rest of the mission.

* * *

><p>The Viper's base was a large toy factory that had surprisingly held up pretty well. There were pieces of its outer layer missing here and there, windows were broken, but it was as steady as any headquarters should be. The area outside once had fences but unlike the factory they surrounded, they weren't upright. They had all fallen to the ground at some point, buried under sand, and went on largely unnoticed by the people who frequented the area. In this case, the Vipers. "Do you know when we're going to make another run at the town?" A masculine voice rumbled, belonging to one of the Vipers inside the toy factory. Across from him sat another member of the band, and both of them had their elbows resting on a table between them. They were idly playing games of poker while they spoke. "<em>He<em> hasn't really mentioned anything. He'll probably crawl from out of his hole and let us know last minute," answered the other man.

Though this particular band of raiders actively distinguished themselves from their similar counterparts ( Jackals, Fiends, and Khans ) by using bones for both armor and weaponry and by decorating their faces with hues of green to look like serpents, just like the two who were playing their card game, they were hardly the Vipers of old anymore. Their bone knives and their ancient discipline of using pit viper venom was still there but it walked side by side with firearms of any kind that they could get their hands on now. Furthermore, they no longer denied using other forms of armor found in the wasteland, such as bullet proof vests. But what most made them different from the Vipers from a century ago was their decaying sense of dedication to the religious practices of the group. Nonetheless, they were a problematic group of villains even without their patriotism. The ones wholly dedicated to the teachings of Johnathan Faust, especially, could be quite wicked.

"Communing with the Great Snakekeeper?" one asked with a particularly sardonic tone. The other answered with a breath, "Chyeah." He shook his head and continued, "The Great Snakekeeper. What a load of utter bull - - " Suddenly, there was a whistling noise coupled with a thump and the sound of bone piercing through flesh. What the remaining poker player was now looking at, with his brown eyes open wide in surprise, was a bone spear thrown right through the skull cavity of his ex poker buddy. It entered one side and came right out the other. "Holy fucking shit . . . " he uttered just as he saw something in his periphery. When he turned to look, he saw who the culprit had been. The Crimson Tongue who was in charge of their sect. His body, unlike all the other members of the group, was entirely covered in armor made out of bones weaved with leather. It went from his upper chest down to his loins and his upper thighs. The body underneath was so thoroughly enveloped with poorly done tattoos that if he were naked, from afar it'd look like he was clothed in black. On his shaven head, there rested a crown that had been filed into the shape of a serpent, made out of the biggest skull the Crimson Tongue had been able to acquire; a super mutant's.

The way he carried himself towards the dead body was snake like, and when he pressed his bare, calloused foot atop his victim's head to provide counter pressure and yanked the spear out, he looked around as if he was expecting something. Other members of the band started to emerge from where they'd been. Women, men, stern and some surprised. His audience had arrived to witness the example he'd made. "Do you sssssseeeeeeee?" he asked, hissing his words out of his throat. "I asssssk. Issss the Great Ssnakekeeper's way not true? Isssssss there anyone here sstrong enough to match?" Nobody answered. Truth was, very few of them could even throw a spear accurately, much less with that much force. "My sssstrength comes from my faith in the Great Ssssnakekeeper, and my ssstrength is as real as blood." The tall leader tilted his spear down and let the tip touch the plasma that was pouring out of the dead Viper's head. "Doessss anybody dissssagree? Isss there anybody here sstrong enough to deny the Great Snakekeeper's sstrength in battle?" Again, nobody answered, and the Crimson Tongue said nothing more. He simply turned slowly and walked away, slithering his body movements.

"Holy shit . . . " the remaining poker player said, dropping his cards to the table while he gazed upon Jacob's lifeless countenance. "He killed Jacob." There was a tinge of vindication in his voice but after what he'd just seen, there was no way he could muster up the courage to attack him. Why? Because Chris, just like all of the other onlookers, had been given an example again to see the strength of the man who led them. They had each been reminded of the reason they joined. All of them had been alone in the wasteland at some point and they'd all been taken in by the Crimson Tongue, enchanted by his strength, comforted by his confidence to ensure safety and prosperity so long as devotion was returned in kind. Chris gulped as regret ravaged him, realizing that he should have never, ever, doubted the man who led them. He was lost in those thoughts when two other members began grabbing at Jacob's arms, dragging him away. Like all corpses the Vipers got their hands on, Jacob was to be turned into armor, into knives and spears. Into their way of showing the Crimson Tongue that he had their allegiance. And Chris? He was just beginning to feel relieved that he was left alive . . . until he felt a pair of hands slithering onto either sides of his head.

Time slowed down as he felt the Crimson Tongue's fingers, which were cold as if to hint at the ghostly concept that he actually might be a coldblooded serpent, touching the sides of his head gently. Everyone who had been leaving stopped and turned around to see, and then the pain came. Suddenly, Chris felt pressure. Inhuman pressure, as if his head was between a vice. "AaaaaAAAAAAGH!" The pain grew more intense and once it had reached its unbearable apex, he yelled as loudly as he could. Those who were watching saw the Crimson Tongue's eyes roll to the back of his head, watched his arms start to shudder as if they'd soon give out and stop. But they didn't. Chris reached up to his head and tried to peel those fingers off, but to no avail. The tattoed leader pressed and pressed, grinding his hands in as if he were trying to dig through, and then blood started to pour out of Chris' eyes and nose. He screamed one more time, pitifully, and then a crack resounded. Everyone heard it. The skull had broken somewhere.

The Crimson Tongue hissed as his eyes swiveled back into place. His eyelids closed over his absent vision slowly like he was returning from a deep trance and then he looked down at Chris' body, which fell from his grasp and hit the floor, bleeding profusely through his ears, nose, and eyes. The people present could only watch in utter bewilderment. What they had just seen was . . . impossible. There was no way a _man _could crush another man's skull like that. But there they stood, and they had all been witnesses to it. The Crimson Tongue glanced at one of the confused Vipers and then at the rest before turning around slowly, stumbling as he began to walk away from them, certain that he'd made his point. While his body disappeared into the dark confines of his section of the factory, some of them battled with themselves internally, wondering if the Great Snakekeeper actually had been a God once. It sounded foolish once upon a time, but things had just changed.

The leader's eyes were closed when he entered his shadowy quarters, but when he opened them again, he could see everything as well as a snake might. The walls were marked by drawings of serpents and on the floor, there were a plethora of jars, all of them filled with unknown substances. Nobody knew, but this Crimson Tongue hadn't always been a tribal savage who had devoted himself to the teachings of the Great Snakekeeper. He'd once been a chemist, too, long before he ever joined the group, and when he'd wrought havoc on his brain with chemicals that should never enter the bloodstream that many times, something in his head broke and fell right into place elsewhere. He became the closest thing there could be to the beings the Vipers revered so long ago. A man who believed so thoroughly, so devoutly, that a God walked in his wake and guided him along a path of strength in return for unmitigated devotion. The chem ridden road that had landed him there mattered nothing.

"Where issss . . . " he hissed, turning his head until his eyes pinpointed the location of what he'd been looking for. There was a prisoner there, arms and legs tied, stuffed in a potato sack. Somehow, he'd managed to roll quite a ways in his struggles to break free, but had failed miserably in the end. He was unmoving until he felt something yanking him and then dragging him along the cold, metallic floor until he was swung and sent rolling. His body thudded against a wall and afterwards, a bone knife pierced the sack and cut a slit into it, revealing his hazel eyes to the dark room. The Crimson tongue was squatted over him, staring deeply into the prisoner's face before reaching over to the tape on his mouth and roughly peeling it off. "Agh!" the man yelled, shifting around in pain before he, with no warning whatsoever, was stabbed in the arm by a needle. He felt something flooding into his blood stream and grunted in pain. "What the hell did you do? What is that?" He yelled loudly, breathing deep breaths until, without further ado, he found out for himself. The Crimson Tongue's eyes had been watching intently the whole time, waiting to see the reaction to that fleetingly gratifying moment of realization in his victim's eyes.

"! AAAAAAAGH!" The screams that resonated from the room was absolutely replete with despair, belonging only to a man who was in so much pain, being put out of his misery would be the sincerest mercy. It could be heard clear into the area outside, and the other Vipers just listened as some of them dreaded. Others enjoyed it to their cores.

* * *

><p>Emma and Rem had been traveling for a little over an hour by then and while most of it was spent being vigilant over anything else, Rem didn't quite go through the whole trek without thinking about a number of things. Eventually, his thoughts fluidly shifted to the Brotherhood of Steel, which had just about entirely eradicated the Vipers. "Guess the Brotherhood couda been more thorough." When Emma heard the word Brotherhood, she sneered under the black helmet as memories of past encounters with them returned to her. "Yeah. As smart as they make themselves out to be, they're pretty stupid." Rem turned ahead again, glancing at the back of Emma's head. This wasn't the first time he'd seen older Desert Rangers display disdain towards the Brotherhood of Steel. His father, in particular, hated them like he hated raiders.<p>

"I ain't been around long enough, I guess." Emma responded calmly, "No, you haven't." Rem cleared his throat and asked, "My dad said they almost declared war on us." After he had spoken, he watched the black helmet nod a few times as Emma's voice resounded, "Yeah. Over something stupid, too." Rem shifted his rifle to his left to give his right a break and inquired further, "Technology, right?" Again, she nodded and began to further explain, "Yeah. Desert Rangers don't typically employ plasma or laser weapons but there are some of us out there who have taken some from the wastes, got savvy enough to restore them, and used them. It's only natural that would happen. I guess the Brotherhood noticed and thought that maybe we had more technology at our disposal than originally assumed." Rem's eyes were tilted to his left and after that, he turned around to take a good, long glance at what was behind them. There was nothing. All the while, Emma continued. "So they hunted down some Desert Rangers." His eyes widened a bit and then his voice cut her off, "They killed 'em?" Emma shook her head, "No. The - - " she paused to explain something she thought needed to be clarified before continuing, "Well, some of the Desert Rangers got injured of course, but none died. At least not from what we know. Some Brotherhood members probably got injured just as well, however. Or killed." Rem just remained silent, but because she knew he was still listening, the conversation went on.

"Anyway, they forced some to surrender and rather than kill them, they interrogated them and when no useful information was acquired, they were sent to Ranger Center with a message. Well, an ultimatum, really. They said that in a week's time, an _ambassador _would be sent to Ranger Center and if he wasn't allowed to inspect the place, they'd send a battalion and conduct more _aggressive politics_. They used these exact words just about, by the way." She had applied a mocking emphasis for those quoted words she was pointing out. "So what happened?" asked Rem. "There was some huge deliberation at Ranger Center and by the time it was over, President Parker decided that they would let the ambassador in, saying that since it was pretty certain that there was no technology in Ranger Center that should raise any alarms for the Brotherhood, it'd be an, and I quote, utter lack of sense and responsibility to risk a possibly devastating war that could so feasibly be avoided." Rem released a quick, disappointed breath. "So a week later, the ambassador showed up. Scribe Eli Dyllon, accompanied by Paladin some shit. I don't recall the name." This time, she evoked a light chuckle from her student.

"Eli's head was so far up his ass even President Parker got pissed off." The two of them were aware that Parker had gone into the books as one of the more calm and collected leaders in the history of Ranger Center. "He laid a verbal beat down from what I've heard but decided to give the Scribe another chance. He took it, and business ensued." Rem began shaking his head as he upheld the rifle and rested it over his left shoulder, "But uh, hey, did Parker show the Scribe them underground levels at the Center?" "Yeah," responded Emma, continuing, "He let them go right in. When they came back out, sure enough they were in a hurry. Parker followed behind them as calm as can be and sealed up the entrance again himself." Rem just couldn't help but smile. The reason why the underground levels had been closed off from the rest of the center was because it was filled with numerous Feral Ghouls, and the majority of them were the glowing variety. Few people knew it but the Desert Rangers had descended from a line of ghoulified Army engineers who, before succumbing to cerebral decay and losing their ability to reason over time, wrote books and passed on teachings to people who arrived at the Center in the later years. As for those who still resided in the lower levels, they had been left there by the forefathers because there were too many to exterminate and nowadays, the Desert Rangers never dealt with it because even with so much fire power in their grasp, an enemy that could release concentrated waves of lethal radiation was nothing to trifle with.

"So they up an' left right after dat?" Rem brought the rifle back down and held it with both hands, glancing long to his left as Emma answered. "Yeah. They made some comments about Desert Rangers being satisfyingly mundane and moved along." "Heh," he responded dryly, "Dumb asses. Dont'cha wish there woudda been a war?" The answer that he got was surprising and not just because of the message it carried, but because of the sincerity with which she said it. "Believe me, I would love to get a shot at those tin cans, but if we had gone to war, we would have lost. Parker did the right thing." The idea that they'd lose the war wasn't entirely alien to Rem. He'd seen what Laser and Plasma Rifles could do, and he was pretty certain that there were few weapons that could hurt a man in Power Armor, but he thought that it wouldn't be as one sided as Emma made it out to be. "C'mon, I'm sure it'd at least be an even fight." Emma answered fervently, "Don't be so naive. You don't win a war on bravado alone. Think about it; The Desert Rangers have _deployed _over seventy percent of its forces in the last decade. While many of them are still in the area another large group of them is either dead, or in other states, completely oblivious to what's going on here in the Mojave. Now take a look at the Brotherhood of Steel. They don't send their soldiers off to help humanity. They keep them around so that they can keep them ready for war." A pause. "They'd mop the floor with us," she added, voice full of cold, hard certainty.

Silence followed while Rem just thought about it. It didn't take long for him to conclude that she was making sense but it did take a few moments for it to settle. He took a long breath and released it, coming to a disturbing understanding that the Desert Rangers weren't built for war. All this time, he'd been carrying himself like he was part of some huge, all encompassing force of men and women who could all band together some day to fight for one cause. Emma's statement had sent that idea crashing and burning, and just like that, Rem started to see what being a Desert Ranger was really like. It wasn't as reassuring as he would have preferred it to be. "Don'tcha think . . . that should change?" Emma was so well versed in the topic that she never stuttered, never paused for long between Rem's questions and her answers. "I don't think anybody can say either yes or no to that and hope to be entirely correct. Look at this way, if we decided to stop deploying our Rangers, the Center eventually wouldn't be enough. You know what that means." The sense behind her words clicked in Rem's head immediately, "We would need tah find other places tah live." Emma nodded, "Exactly. But not only that. We'd have to find other places and we'd have to find other methods to accommodate our growing numbers. More ways to keep ourselves armed. We'd probably have to go around taking towns for ourselves. Stuff like that." Rem could see where going around trying to find supplies to keep an entire army supplied started to sound like the wrong decision.

It took a long few moments before Rem constructed his next question. "Well . . . them Brotherhood boys have been doin' it to keep themselves supplied. Why can't we?" Emma had been waiting, "If we went that route, we'd be less like the Brotherhood and more like the NCR." Rem wasn't quite as educated about the Republic as Emma was. All he knew when it came to them was that they'd lost thirty eight citizens in the Mojave Desert a few years back and had responded by sending soldiers into the area. "Oh, I don't know much about them, tah be honest." She began explaining as soon as she heard him, "The NCR is a group of people who are dedicated to democracy, rule of law, so on so forth. They also want to ensure the positive progress of humankind throughout the Wasteland." Rem's lips tilted down at the corners, not quite as disappointed as he thought he'd be. "Doesn't . . . sound all that bad." Emma cleared her voice, "It's not bad at all, but . . . " she sighed and digressed, ". . . you haven't been around long enough." Rem watched with a puzzled look on his face, but before he could further inquire, Emma spoke, "There it is." Immediately, Rem's train of thought was derailed and he moved his mind away from the conversation at hand and landed it on what would come next. There in the distance, there was a large building with some of its windows alight. From where he was standing, he could see the company name. Happy Kids Toy Factory, it read, and if the logo wasn't as damaged as it was, it might have been awe inspiring.

"So how are we gonna - - " Rem's voice got cut off when the two of them watched something come into view, and they hid away to watch without being seen. There were three Viper members and one of them in particular was dragging some kind of sack along the ground. When Emma and Rem looked closely enough, they each saw something struggling inside. The two of them immediately realized that there was a person in there and that things had changed, but Rem put it to words anyway, "Ma'am, looks like we got a rescue mission on our hands now."


	9. Haven't been around long enough

**Mojave Wasteland**

**August 3rd 9:13 pm **

**2267**

"So, ma'am, how exactly would yew like to go on about this?" Emma laid there on her stomach, propped up on her elbows while she surveyed the toy factory. "My first plan's out the window." Rem noted the regret in her tone. A laziness, almost, and when he heard it, he turned to glance at her. That same lackluster voice had rumbled in his ears before on a few occasions. He didn't make much of it the first few times but now that he'd heard it more, it started to sound different. Sort of like she didn't want to have to care about a prisoner. He thought to ask but decided to set it aside for now and ask later on, when time wasn't a factor. His eyes turned ahead again and he waited for orders. However, a few long moments went by with nothing being said, and that was when he took it upon himself to make a suggestion. "I think yew should let me git in der ma'am." Rem didn't see it but inside that mask, her eyes went smaller. She knew, even before he said it, that his idea would be the one that was likeliest to work. Rem was great at staying silent, out of sight, and he was equipped with a silenced weapon for this, too. "Yeah," she answered, with the same lack of enthusiasm as before. This time, Rem didn't glance at her, but he thought hard about it.

"Okay ma'am, I'll fall back and round that whole area over there," he held his right hand outward and gestured to the ground to the factory's left. There were a few dirt hills and other debris in the area that would provide cover. Cars, makeshift shades made out of iron sheets that the Vipers had put up around the area for comfort, stuff like that. "I'll enter through that broken window right there once it's clear and we'll go with the usual amount of time before yew start firin'." When he glanced at her, she waved her hand at him. It was her way of telling him that the drill didn't need to be explained to her. "Watch yer back, ma'am, an' I know yew wont need it, but gewd luck." With that, he stood up and began to fall back further away from the toy factory, and when he disappeared behind the uneven ground, he began to run the route he had pointed out. As he did, he began slinging the repeater over his back and securing it, knowing full well that in this particular mission, he'd be making more use of the forty five caliber handgun in its holster.

By the time Rem had come within forty feet of the factory, Emma had removed her sniper rifle and placed its support on the ground. Then, Rem jogged into her scope view, keeping low, and she watched him move along. His feet didn't even kick up dust as he crept and each stride was short so as to keep the steps as silent as possible. First he was behind a shade and then he approached a junked car and pressed his back against it. The scope settled on his handsome face and she stared until he stood up straight and escaped her view again. While she followed him, a question crept into her mind, _What the hell are you doing? _She stopped following him directly and started surveying the area around her student instead to help keep him safe. If something went wrong and he was noticed on his way there, she'd have to cover him. _Alright, Rem, let's get out of this alive. _From this point of view, it was hard to tell exactly how many Vipers there might be inside and they were too short on time to find out, but she suspected it couldn't be very many.

Eventually, Rem ran and reached the wall right under the window he said he'd climb into and glanced around. He noticed something out of place. He was able to see Emma, so he began signaling to her by pointing his index and middle finger to his eyes and then to her. _Oh, fuck_, Emma thought, shortly before getting on her feet and changing her position. Rem waited a few moments and when she didn't pop up on his field of vision anymore, he proceeded, wondering what was wrong with her tonight. Emma aligned the scope with him and watched him tug on a pipeline close to the window. He was checking how sturdy it was, and when he ascertained it was alright, he used it to climb up to the level of the window. Then he waited a few moments and with uncanny grace, swung himself into the opening, missing the shards of glass protruding from the edges. She didn't see it, but when Rem landed, his knees bent fluidly to absorb the impact and didn't make a sound at all. _He's in_, she thought.

Once inside, Rem didn't wait long. He immediately began pacing down the first hallway in front of him and eventually, he came upon an open door and pressed his back to the wall next to it. On the other side, he could hear voices. There were three in there. "No, she was a merchant. We ambushed her caravan, took down the guards, and poisoned her with the pit viper venom. She went stiff as I do when I got a Betty in bed and we dragged her all the way over here. She regained mobility a few yards out but not enough to cause any real trouble." The man sounded like he was proud of his work. After a while, Rem took a quick peek with just his right eye and when he drew back again, he had seen enough. He knew where the three men were, knew that there were machines in that room, which provided lots of places to hide, and knew which way he'd go when he went inside. "The Crimson Tongue dragged her into his place when I got her here but there hasn't been any screaming, so he's probably keeping her for later." Rem's eyes narrowed, wondering what the hell a Crimson Tongue was, but decided to throw that aspect of the conversation to the wind and think about what was seemingly most important; the prisoner was still alive.

Rem took a glance again and sustained it this time, and then he quickly took his chance and swept into the room like a shadow. The men never saw, not even in their periphery, when he crept into the room and hid behind one of the machines inside. Once he was there, hidden in the darkness caused by the cover of the machine, he began to think. His breath picked up as the tension grew. Rem had been on missions like this one before but it didn't quite matter how many times he did it. When you're in the enemy's house, many things could go wrong. From one moment to the next, someone could notice, and things could end very quickly after that. For now at least, he was at ease with the machine he was hidden behind. Like many of the others, this one was settled over a conveyor belt that led towards a wall and went through it, coming out somewhere in the other side. _Awright Emma. Yer turn,_ he thought, and began waiting. As Emma waited for the time to elapse, she found solace in the fact that she hadn't heard any gunfire. If she had, it'd be a clear sign that something was wrong, and that the whole situation was compromised. She drew a breath in that filled her lungs and as she released it slowly, her body relaxed.

It felt like it took longer than it actually did but when she was certain enough time had gone by, she began the next phase. But first, she lifted her head and took a good long glance at her surroundings, checking to see if there was anything in the near distance. _Clear, _she thought, and settled back down. She placed her right eye in front of the scope and she saw everything clearly, even with the visor in the way. In fact, the helmet was designed so well that her vision was as unhindered as it would be if she had her naked eye in the scope. As she dragged the rifle from one way to the next, looking through windows, she finally found her target. There was a Viper female seated on a chair with food on the table in front of her. Without much more hesitation, she aligned the crosshairs and her finger squeezed the trigger. The rifle ejected its projectile and it zipped through the air, ripping through the skin and bone, unleashing a torrent of blood that splattered against a nearby wall. The sound of the gunshot reverberated through the entire factory, and when Emma began to hear people yelling from within, she continued.

Rem was still hiding in the shadows when he heard the gunshot. "What the hell?" one of the men in the room said. As they stood, the yelling ensued. Vipers screamed curses, and the three men in the room immediately knew what was going on. They were under attack, so each of them rushed towards the exit and just before they reached it, Rem ascended from his hiding place with their backs to him, aiming the silenced 45 pistol at one of their heads. A suppressed whistle sounded and the first man went down. The body hadn't even hit the floor when the next Viper was shot, and as the final one started to turn around to see what was going on, a third bullet pierced his cranial cavity and he dropped to the floor beside his comrades. Rem holstered the gun and stepped over the bodies, closing the door behind him so that nobody would see just yet that there had been killings inside the factory already.

Emma was looking at a whirlwind of activity, but after a while, one particular member made the mistake of glancing out the window. Her crosshairs passed him by but returned fluidly and when his head was in her sight, she pulled the trigger. "Uagh!" the man yelled as his head jerked back. A Viper that had been standing next to him watched the body tumble and now that he'd seen what was going on, he began alerting everyone he could, "There's a sniper out front!" Next, she moved her scope to the main entrance of the factory just in time to see another member sprint out. The rifle spat again, and the Viper who'd been watching noticed the muzzle flash, which indicated her location for a fleeting second, and the Viper who had been the target fell. "I see her!" one yelled. It was loud enough for the words to reach Emma's perception, so she made sure to keep it in mind for now. It was likely that she'd be changing positions very soon, unless they noticed Rem.

The rifle fire from outside kept resounding through the factory, and Rem kept moving along under the cover of machinery. Everyone was in such a panic and everyone was so caught up with the sniper outside that none of them stopped to notice that some of the deaths weren't caused by the threat outside. Rem even watched from one of his hiding spots as one member ran right by a couple of Vipers that had been shot nowhere near a window. It was luck, really, but Rem was savvy enough to keep in mind that he wouldn't be an unknown variable in this whole confrontation for long. Eventually he'd be seen or eventually someone would notice that people were being killed by an inside source. The understanding of that gave him a sense of urgency, so he came out and after looking to either side to make sure the path was clear, he continued venturing through the factory, hoping that he'd come across the prisoner very quickly. Every second wasted could be the second she was murdered.

A door to the main factory floor swung open and hit a Viper on the other side, causing him to fall to the floor. "Hey, watch where you're fuck- - " he was cut off when he looked up and saw a pistol pointed at his head. Rem pulled the trigger and the Viper went lifeless. Afterwards, Rem looked ahead and he saw three Vipers who immediately turned and took notice from some of the iron pathways above him. "Hey! What the fuck!" As they drew their guns towards him he began strafing to his right, firing at them with the gun in his left hand. One of them was caught in the throat and she fell back, gurgling as blood spewed into her trachea. When the others were given enough of a chance to fire, Rem dove behind cover and rolled to a stop, pushing himself up to his feet as bullets whistled behind him. _Fuck, _he thought as his pistol dropped its clip. He opened his blazer and dug another out and pushed it into the slot, and then dragged the roof of the gun back to load a bullet into the chamber. He was pinned here, but he knew he had to stay calm. So, like he'd been taught, he took a deep breath and released it as slowly as possible, waiting for his opportunity while his assailants yelled. "We got intruders! We got intruders!"

At that point in time, Emma started to notice that gunfire was erupting from inside the factory. Rem had been seen, and since the Vipers would immediately be struck with the wonderment of whether or not they had an entire group of enemies inside their facility, she was given a venue to enter. As she stood, she removed the clip in the sniper rifle and removed the one that was already in the barrel as well. She left it behind, knowing that nobody would be likely to pick it up anyway, and began running to her right, following the same exact approach route that Rem had taken earlier. She even used the same exact window to enter, and when she landed, she drew her 44 magnum revolver from its holster just in time to lock eyes with another Viper member. As his eyes widened, she took pleasure in the intimidation her black armor caused, and pulled the trigger without letting much time go by. The bullet ravaged the Viper's throat and he dropped to the floor, back thudding against a wall as she began moving further into the factory, leaving the man to struggle all by himself.

The first door she saw, she kicked open, knowing that if anybody was on the other side, it'd hurt. However, the door flung open unhindered, slamming against the wall behind it, and what she saw there in front of her brought back memories. _Oh shit, _was all she had a chance to think as the Crimson Tongue that was standing there thrust his spear forth. The bone smashed against the black armor and though it didn't pierce, the sheer amount of strength that this tattooed figure had put into the motion was enough to send her stumbling back several steps until she fell against a wall. Her eyes had never abandoned her enemy, however, and so she pointed the revolver forth with her right, hovered her left over the hammer, and began pulling the trigger. Each time she fired, she used her left to push the hammer down again. The Crimson Tongue hissed as one of the bullets pierced through the armor on his arm and caused blood to splatter behind him, but before another could find purchase on his body, he removed himself from the door way and began running away. Emma would have followed his path along the wall and hoped she got lucky, but they were made out of iron, and the bullets would not get through. _Never thought I'd run into one of these guys again_, she thought as she stood up. Her heart was pounding.

While Rem was pinned behind the machinery that he was using for cover, bullets were ricocheting wildly. "Agh fuck!" he yelled when one of them grazed his arm, drawing blood. Just then, he turned and looked back over his left shoulder, his vision peering through cracks between machinery parts, and saw a Viper approaching his position. As soon as he rounded the corner into Rem's hiding spot, his M16 was parried aside and pinned against the machine. Rem then, with his left to the assailant, cocked his elbow and drove it straight into his nose. He felt the cartilage crack and as the man dropped, he shot him in the chest twice, piercing his heart each time. "Fuck! Jessica, get the fuck down there and kill this asshole!" The woman responded angrily, "Fuck you! I'm not going down there! You go!" Rem peeked around a corner and saw them staring at each other, arguing fiercely, and he took his chance. Jessica watched as a bullet pierced her partner's head and when she turned to the where the intruder was holed up, she looked right into the barrel of Rem's pistol just as a bullet was ejected into the area under her left cheekbone. She tossed her arms up, her pistol was tossed to the side, and her body fell unceremoniously against the metallic floor.

Rem was breathing heavily once that altercation was over, and then he heard gunshots in another area of the factory. That was how he knew Emma had entered the fray, and then, his peripheral vision detected a white figure running by. He turned his head and he saw the Crimson Tongue; a man covered entirely in bone armor, but before he could fire at him, he disappeared into the dark confines of his lair. Something about the way he was dressed as opposed to the others made it very easy for Rem to realize who he had just seen. _That's gotta be the Crimson Tongue they was talkin' about. _He began pacing in the same direction but remembered that Emma was better equipped for this. Her helmet would allow her to see just fine in the darkness. So he paused, and then began to get fidgety, _By the time she gits here, that merchant might be dead._ With his mind made up, he moved towards the blackness and as he stepped in, it was like he was swallowed up by a blanket of shadow.

Inside, he quieted his steps as best he could, and he also kept close to the wall, but with every inch further he went inside, he started to feel a bit of dread, like he was being hunted. It was too late to turn back now, however. His eyes were open wide, trying to force his sight to become acclimated, but he knew it'd take a few minutes for them to adjust to the light level. _This guy could be anywhere. But if I can't see, he can't see. _For a moment, he felt better. He could still hear the bullets cracking outside somewhere behind him but here, in this section of the factory, it was silent, and the more time he spent there, the more he began to think about how things would be tilted in the other's favor. The one to lose would be the first one to make a sound, he figured, but then he heard something so noticeable he could only conclude that he heard it because his presence was not unknown. "Hiiiissssssss . . . " he heard. In response, he paused and listened, hoping to decipher the direction, but it was impossible. The sound was hard to make out. "Hiiiiiisssss . . . " Rem's eyebrows furrowed and he looked off to one side, stepping forth as he did, and the Crimson Tongue was able to see every move. _Why the hell's he makin' that sound? He's messin' wit' me. _He glanced from one side to the other, still thinking, _Come on, yew bastard. Do somethin'. _Then, from under the cover of darkness, he was approached in utter silence, and when he took his next step, he felt a fierce jerking motion as his gun was parried to one side.

"Oh fuck!" he yelled just in time for him to feel a bony, inhumanly strong quartet of knuckles colliding against his cheekbone. The crack was audible as his world began to spin, but when he landed on the metallic floor and the back of his head smacked against it, he gritted his teeth and began aiming forward with his gun. Before he could, a cold foot pressed down on his inner forearm and pinned it forcefully against the floor. Right after that, he felt a sharp pain, and he released a loud scream that was heard all the way outside. A spear had been thrust into his right arm and subsequently pulled out. When he looked up, he was vaguely able to make out the shape of the man and, most importantly, the shape of the spear hovering over his face. When it descended, Rem jerked his head to the side and heard the bone tip snapping against the iron floor next to his ear. "Hisssss . . . " he heard again, and then the man dropped on top of him with a knee finding square purchase on Rem's diaphragm. His breath was pushed out of him and then he felt a pair of cold hands touching down on either sides of his head. _Wut the hell's goin' on? It's like he can see. _

As Rem wheezed and tried to best reacquire his breath, those hands pressed, and that was when it dawned on Rem that he wasn't dealing with a man. The sheer amount of force that was placed on his cranial structure made it feel like he was fighting a super mutant. "Agh," he grunted, kicking his legs around in a desperate attempt to escape. When the pain grew, the more he grunted and the more he struggled. He screamed loudly one final time when it felt like his skull was going to crack. _Fuck! He's crushing my skull! _He struggled harder, and then, seemingly out of nowhere and just when his vision was going blurry, a gunshot erupted in their area. Those cold hands released Rem's head and he felt the body on top of him falling back and thudding against the floor. "HIIISSS - - " the hissing was cut off by another gunshot, and then another. Rem breathed loudly, and then he heard Emma's voice, "Are you hurt?" She approached him and knelt down at his side. Rem was still reeling from what he'd just gone through but after a few moments, he was able to properly formulate a statement. "He stabbed mah arm and he almost crushed mah head, Emma. The hell is he?" She could hear his frustration, but she checked his arm and responded as she did, relieved to know that the injuries weren't serious, "He's a Crimson Tongue. Back when the Vipers had more people in their group, their best warriors were called that. They were a mundane bunch of bastards but they were tough." There was a pause as Rem caressed his forehead. Right after, blood began to pour from his nose. "Never seen one try to crush a man's head, though." As the plasma poured out, she dug into her pocket and pulled out a cloth and placed it under his nostrils. "Hold it." Rem's hand rose and held it in place, as per Emma's order.

"Wait right here," she said, and Rem just answered with a nod as he sat up. He began removing the blazer and as it fell off, he saw lights flashing on and off. It was some kind of fission battery powered light source, a large one, and after flickering to and from life enough times, it finally stayed on, and Rem looked around to see Emma standing in front of it. The light was intense enough to set the entire area alight. Rem looked around at everything and saw things that Emma had already seen. There were markings all around the walls. All of them were serpent themed, and in one of the corners, there was a large pile of skeletons. "Oh shit . . . " he uttered. "There's gotta be over fifty of 'em." Emma didn't say a thing as she knelt down beside him again and took his injured arm, keeping her thoughts to herself. Something wasn't quite right about that pile of skeletons. Rem gritted his teeth in pain as she began wrapping bandages around it tightly. "We're out of stims so this will have to do for now. We might find one lying around somewhere though." In response, Rem nodded his head and then he heard someone yelling. "Help me! Can anybody hear me! Help!" Emma straightened up and glanced over her shoulder, finding a door in the distance. "Prisoner's right over there," she mentioned.

Emma helped Rem stand to his feet when suddenly, they heard yelling outside. "Where are these bastards? There were two of them! I saw them!" Rem watched as Emma's green visors aligned with his eyes. "I'll go take care of it. You get the prisoner," she ordered. As she walked away, Rem responded, "Yes ma'am," and so he turned around and began heading towards the door they could hear the callings from, wincing from the pain as he did. The door opened with a screech and inside, he saw a potato sack on the ground with a bunch of jars around on the floor. In one corner of the room, there were hypos, all filled with some type of substances unknown to Rem. "Who's there?" Rather than an answer, the prisoner felt someone tugging at the sack and to respond, she flailed. "Hey relax, sweetheart, relax," Rem cooed. The movements stopped and the sack was pulled out from under her. She looked up immediately to see her savior, and Rem stared down right at her as well. She was a brunette with brown eyes. "Wut's yer name?" Rem asked, with a gentle voice as he knelt down beside her and began undoing the ropes. "Jenny," she said. Once the ropes came off, Rem stood and she began to do the same. Standing now, she glanced at Rem and her eyes became smaller, "Thank you." Rem knew sincerity when he saw it. "No need to thank me, ma'am. This is wut I live for. I'm Rem." Jenny's lips stretched to award him with a smile, "Nice to meet you."

His eyes trailed down to see what she was wearing, and found jean shorts and some improvised leather armor. "Yer a merchant, right?" It sounded like less of a question and more like a statement, and he continued before she could say anything else, "Any idea where yer caravan's at?" She nodded her head as concern tinged her facial features, "Yeah. They killed my brahmin and only brought what they thought they'd need. How old are you?" Rem smiled at the question, and how off-topic it had been, but answered anyway. "How old do I look?" The merchant returned the smile. She looked to be in her mid twenties. "Nineteen? Twenty?" she answered. He released an amused breath and shook his head, "Naw. I'm seventeen." The look of surprise crept onto her visage, "Really? And you did this all alone?" Again, he shook his head, "Naw. I'm here with a Desert Ranger." As she glanced at him, Rem could see that she had a lot of things on her mind, "Yew know, yer lucky tah be safe. They couda killed you." As soon as he said that, her eyes watered. "Shit, I'm sorry," he added. She held her palm up to him and shook her head, "No, it's fine." Rem pressed his lips together and breathed out, "Well, let's get on outta here. It wont do ya any good stayin' here."

She followed Rem out the door and looked around, making note of all the things she hadn't been able to see when she was in the potato sack. She dragged her vision along the walls, then to the corner where all the skeletons were piled, and then to the tattooed figure on the floor face down, lifeless. "That's him, right? The leader?" Rem turned to glance and nodded, "Yes, he gave me lotsa trouble," and then he turned ahead again, approaching the skeletons. As he paced closer, he stared into their eye sockets, and even began idly counting them when suddenly, he realized something odd. These skeletons . . . were stripped clean, and it didn't smell like anything had been dead in there. _Somethin's wrong here. They wusn't even naked. They wouldn't strip them for bones when they had clothes on. _"Hissssssss!"

Rem spun around just in time to see the Crimson Tongue on the floor jerk back to life, swinging his right arm in a wide arc until it made contact with Jenny's leg. As she screamed in pain and fell towards the floor, Rem dug his 45 out of its holster, aimed, and pulled the trigger several times. The silencer had been taken off so the gunfire resounded with no hindrances, and Rem gritted his teeth in conviction as the Crimson Tongue squirmed and squirmed, fiercely battling the prospect of death. "Die! Die!" The trigger was pulled a few additional times and then he stopped moving again. There was a pause during which a puddle of blood expanded underneath the body, and then, just to make sure, he pulled the trigger again and put a bullet in his brain. Rem heard him grunt, and that just sent a chill crawling up his spine. "Wut in the hell was this thang?" He holstered the pistol and walked towards Jenny, "Are ya hurt?" Her head shook gently from side to side, "Yeah. He stabbed me with something, but it doesn't feel like, you know, a knife wound." To see, she removed her hand from the wound and it looked like a small, fine gash with blood barely flowing through. "Awright, I'll bandage it." Rem knelt down and as he reached out for the leg, Jenny suddenly screamed.

Rem's eyes widened and his shoulders jumped, startled. After dragging his eyes off her leg and to the rest of her body, he watched her fall flat on her back, screaming at the top of her lungs. "Jenny! Wut's wrong? Jenny!" She reached to her leg and continued wailing. Rem had never heard anybody scream in pain like that in his life. "Jenny! What's wrong?" This time, she responded, "It's burning!" When Rem turned to look down at her leg, he saw it start to turn red, and then the skin boiled as if it was liquid. _What in god's name . . . _ he asked. Before he could say anything else, the skin melted completely off, revealing the bone white underneath, and Jenny's screaming only got louder. _What do I do? _The redness that he had seen in her leg started appearing in other areas of her body at that point. It was going to burn through everything except the bone, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He started to panic, but was frozen by it until something inside him clicked. He stood quickly but hesitantly and drew his 45, aiming it towards the area right between the eyes, and the despair with which she looked at him was the last nudge he needed. "This is fer the best, sweetheart." He pulled the trigger and watched her body go lifeless after her head jerked back, and then he watched the skin start to melt away under her clothes. It smelled just like a body on fire, and as the effect started to reach her face and her eyes, he looked away.

The sizzling stopped after about a minute and when he looked at what was left, he saw Jenny's skeleton. A clean ivory that emanated warmth. Steam was rising from it, whirling about in the cool air of the night. _Yew shouldn't have let her get too far from yew. _He drew a breath and released it, closing his eyes and shaking his head. A long while went by and he just kept regretting the whole time, remembering what she looked like as she was burning until Emma's mechanic voice broke the silence, "You did the right thing," he heard. His head turned slowly to glance over his shoulder and saw her standing there, staring at him. Rem breathed out again and looked at the skeleton on the ground at his feet. "I thought after what I been through, ma'am, I'd be ready for anythang." Emma's steps brought her to his side, and she glanced down at Jenny's remains. "But that ain't true." The statement brought back memories for Emma. The first mercy killing she'd ever made flashed before her eyes. "I wusn't ready fer this. I wusn't." She could hear the regret in his voice but was impressed that he sounded strong even so, and then she glanced at him, reaching up to pat his shoulder, "You haven't been around long enough, that's all. Next time, the best you can do is make a quicker decision." The thought that there would be a next time gave him a sense of dread. "Yes ma'am . . . " he tilted his chin down and Emma walked past him, and past Jenny, towards the room he'd found her in.

"I get it now," Rem said, and Emma paused before walking through the door. She turned around to face her student as he continued, "There wus all kinds o' chems in there. I wager that one of 'em does this and he used another one to make himself tougher." It sounded sound, and Emma nodded her head slowly, "Must have been a chemist before he joined the Vipers." As she disappeared into the Crimson Tongue's chem room, he began following her there, and the first thing the two of them looked at was the pile of hypos in the corner. Rem watched in silence as she approached them and knelt down, picking one of them out and examining it. It looked like your typical psycho injector, but the fluid therein was a different color. "Looks like more than psycho," she said, setting it aside, and began to look through the others. "Yeah," she uttered finally, "No jet, no psycho. I've never seen this stuff before." Rem took a breath and paced towards her, kneeling down next to the pile and grabbing the potato sack Jenny had been tied in. Emma turned to see what he was doing and when he started to throw it all into the sack, she opened her mouth to ask, but Rem clarified before she could, "I'm gettin' rid of it. We don't need anybody learnin' how to make this shit." Emma straightened out slowly, silently agreeing with his opinion.

The two of them stepped out and along the way, Rem dropped the sack into a fire that was still burning on the factory floor, and then put his blazer back on. There were dead Vipers strewn about here and there as they went along. Everyone was dead, and so they went on to perform the usual routine after wiping out a group of raiders. They checked every Viper for loot, checked their supply caches, and they did so without saying a word to each other. Rem looked like a zombie as he looked through lockers and turned bodies over, and Emma remained Emma. When Rem noticed that, he thought that in a few years, that's what he'd be like. It was almost unsettling, but he wasn't ready to go back on something he'd signed up for. Eventually, they had looked through everything they could find and left the factory, walking into the Mojave, getting Emma's sniper rifle along the way. There was nothing but silence between them. She thought that even though she wasn't feeling the same way as Rem was, because she was just glad that Rem hadn't been the one turned into a skeleton, she was pretty certain she knew the nature of his ruminations. It was experiences like this that changed people over time. Some of them became better people, others became emotionally fragile, and the list went on and on. She turned to glance at the side of his face as they walked, wondering how it'd affect him, and then began walking quicker to take point while she thought about how her first mercy killing had changed her so long ago.

Rem just continued following, and after a while, Emma brought him back down to Earth, "Ever vigilant." He took a breath and released it, and then began doing just that, being vigilant, trying his best not to let what had happened back there bother him.


	10. Past experiences

**Mojave Wasteland **

**August 4th 12:06 am **

**2267**

They arrived at the market, where they'd been living for the past week, after going to the town that had been under attack by the Vipers. They had picked up enough caps from the dead raiders and enough supplies to sell as well, which fetched them both a respectable sum of base that they could use to buy stuff that they needed as well. They didn't step in without making sure it was safe to, however, and when they did, Emma walked in first. Rem followed behind, closing the door and turning back ahead to see his teacher removing the armor. First, her helmet came off, then the trench coat, and then the torso piece. She set it all aside on a table top as Rem walked up to the couch and sat down heavily. He set his rifle aside and Emma turned to glance at him, able to see very clearly that he was still thinking.

For the time being, she let him be and began walking to the back of the shop, removing her boots and then her pants once she got there. The black blouse she wore barely covered her curvaceous rear. Before she continued into the next area of the shop, however, she turned to glance at Rem over her shoulder again and when she saw him there without moving, without saying anything, she felt like she should be doing more. She should be teaching him something. "You're going to have to get used to having the blame on your shoulders," she said. Rem was called from his trance. "Yeah," he began, softly, "I shouldn't have let her git tew far from me." Emma turned around to face him and walked. There was a display case there with a cashier on top of it, and she leaned up against it with her elbows on the surface. "And I should have put a bullet in his head." His head lifted again subtly, a faint indication of his understanding, and lowered again.

She released a breath and shifted, resting her chin on her hand with an inkling of frustration nibbling at her. For a while, she fought with herself, but ultimately closed her eyes in digression and began. "Want to hear about the first time I had to perform a mercy killing?" After she asked the question, she wished she could take it back. The proposition garnered Rem's attention, however. He'd been with Emma for a whole ten months and hadn't gotten her to talk about herself too much. She told him where she'd been before but not much of anything about the things she'd been through. "Yeah," he said, taking off his blazer. She leaned off of the counter and began walking to where he was, and sat down on the smaller couch across from him, turning her body to let her legs hang over one of the arm rests while her back weighed on the fabric behind her. Once Rem got comfortable and looked at her, ready to listen, she began to recall the specifics. "We were out in Arizona at the time, my teacher and I, that is, and we'd gotten word that people in a town called Juniper were being abducted." Rem's unfaltering gaze began to bother her. She almost called it quits right then and there but decided not to. She was doing something she hadn't done in years, and it wasn't comfortable. Moments like these made her think about how much of a factor a lack of companionship could be.

"So we made our way there and when we arrived, nobody would even step outside to talk to us. We walked around for an hour, asking people to come out, and eventually, someone did. A woman. Her name was . . . " she struggled to remember but after thinking deeply enough and picturing the person's face, she did. "Lisa, and she began telling us about what was going on. She said that a few months before, a group of gunmen arrived in town and demanded to be paid rent for their protection. When the Sheriff answered no, a gunfight broke out and he ended up dead. The rest of the townies managed to fight them off, but after that, they began making silent trips into town. The people they got to, they gagged and bagged, and took them away. My teacher asked for a location and Lisa said she'd say it on one condition. She said that she'd tell us if we did her the favor of letting one of us stay in town because some people had said that they'd seen someone sneaking around at night, and that if one of them stayed, they'd be less likely to try something." Rem calmly cut in, "So you stayed behind and your teacher went ahead, right?" In response, Emma reached up to her face and dragged her hand down across it, nodding as she did.

"He went off and I stayed behind on a high vantage point to keep an eye out. The first night went by and I thought it was just taking a while, but then the next two days sped right by. I remember one of the townsfolk coming up to me and telling me that they were sorry, but it was very likely that the Desert Ranger was dead, and that I should move on." Immediately, Rem knew what he would do and expected Emma would do the same. "You went to look for him instead." Again, Emma nodded and then spoke quickly, as if to clear something up, "Well, not at first. I was different back then. I was fifteen years old at the time and I thought about going to look for him, but I was terrified. If my teacher was killed, what good would I do? So, I left town one day without letting anyone know and on my way along, I stopped. What if he's still alive and needs help, I thought. So, I turned back and went to look for him." As she spoke, Rem moved his arm as gently as possible but winced anyway. "Are you alright?" He nodded his head and spoke, "Yes ma'am. Continue." She felt uncomfortable being encouraged to speak, but she felt there was no going back now. The glance she gave the ground to her left gave Rem an idea of what was going on in her head.

"When I got there, I found an old farm and a barn. I could see the people moving around inside the house but the barn seemed quiet, so I went there first, thinking I could get a better view from there anyway." Right after that, she went silent and kept her eyes tilted down, aligned with the ground to her left. She looked entirely absent. Rem was watching her so closely that after more of the same, he came upon the understanding that she was looking back at the memories. Whatever she saw in the barn, she was probably looking at all over again. She snapped out of it on her own strength and looked at Rem, "I got there without being noticed and I found my teacher. He was all . . . cut up," her voice trailed off as she pictured him chained to a wall, naked. "Both his hands were cut off at the wrists and the wounds were cauterized so he wouldn't die of blood loss." She released a breath, "I could see lots of burns all around his body. Cigarette marks, cattle prods . . . " At that point, Rem didn't need to know any more to see where this was going. "A table nearby had medical supplies on it. Stimpaks . . . and the bastards even had a defibrillator there." As he listened, he leaned in, "To keep him alive longer . . . " She looked at him in the eye for a fleeting moment and then turned to the side again, offering one assertive nod as she did.

"I could see his chest rising and collapsing so I went up to him and patted his cheek to wake him up. Didn't want to make much noise. His eyelids opened up first, and I saw that they had taken them out." She watched as Rem's eyebrows furrowed, "Fuckers," he cursed, as she continued. "Then after a little while he said my name. He guessed right. I told him it was me, and that I would find a way to get him out of there." Before Rem could even hear the rest, he knew what her teacher must have said. "He told me that I was smart enough to know that wasn't possible. Then he said I knew what I had to do. After a few minutes of me bitching and moaning, I agreed, and he told me he had one more thing to say. He said that when he arrived, they knew he was coming, and then after they'd captured him, he heard them talking about how the townies had done such a good job letting them know he was on his way. The whole thing had been a ruse for the town and them to caps out of hapless mercenaries and other people who offered to help." Hearing that immediately reminded him of the way his father had died as a consequence of being betrayed by someone he thought he was helping.

"Then he said that I should lay mines around the area, shoot him, and run away to get help from another Desert Ranger. He said the mines should be enough to ward off pursuers and that to get in contact with someone who can help, I'd have to go to a safe house we had visited a few months before then." At that point, Rem was silent, letting her say the rest with no interruptions. His eyes were fixated on her and now that she was this far along, it didn't bother her as much. "And that was when I performed my first mercy killing. I thought about it for a long time. I still do sometimes, and mind you, I had already done my fair share of killing at that point. Not only that, but my teacher had mentioned a scenario just like that to me, and told me to shoot him if it ever happened. He said he'd do the same for me. Even then, I wasn't ready. It's hard to be ready for things like that until after you've already done it." He started to nod his head slowly but he wanted to know more. Hesitantly, he asked after he gathered up the courage to. "Wut . . . happened after? I mean, after yew got away." She gently began her answer, "I got help and went back with four other Desert Rangers. We killed the guys who had tortured my teacher and when we went to get rid of the townsfolk, they begged and pleaded, saying that they had been forced to do it." Emma shifted in her seat, lying further back into it.

She breathed deeply and continued as she exhaled, "We argued among each other. Two of us thought we should get rid of them and the other three said that we didn't have any proof that they had been lying, and even if they were, we'd eventually find out and if that was the case, we could come back. They said that there wasn't enough certainty to justify killing parents and leaving a few children all alone to fend for themselves." As he thought about her story, he couldn't imagine going on knowing that Wesley hadn't paid the price for killing his father. Something like that could destroy a person's life. "So, the senior Desert Ranger ordered us to leave them be, and we did. We left them there." Rem pressed his lips together and shook his head, "I'm sorry, Emma. Musta been hard." Her shoulders lifted and dropped slowly, offering a lack luster shrug as she continued, "A year later, I found out that the whole town had been wiped out. Nobody was left alive. Nobody ever found out who did it." His eyes finally moved away from her and he sat back, "Dudn't make much of a difference, right? Even if they died ten times over, they wudn't make up fer the person yew lost." She nodded and answered simply, but there was enough substance in her tone to make it clear to Rem that she was in deep agreement, "Exactly."

A while went by and Emma turned finally to glance back at Rem, speaking as she did, "I remember, when I was younger, that a lot of the things that my higher ups tried to teach me went in but never quite . . . got processed. You know what I mean?" Her rhetorical question went on unanswered. "If you want to be readier than most people as you go on ahead, don't let that happen with what I'm about to say." She garnered Rem's attention entirely. "You haven't become the perfect Desert Ranger when you've gotten yourself ready for everything that's going to happen ahead in life. You've become the perfect Desert Ranger when you've learned to live with yourself. When you've learned to accept yourself for all the mistakes you've made and are going to make again in the name of _doing what's right_, and continue performing your duties to the best of your abilities." His ears got hot after he heard that. Her choice of words, more than anything, had struck fear into him. What kind of mistakes was he going to make in the future? Before he could conjure up some hypothetical scenario, she began standing up, and his eyes turned to look at her.

"Keep that in mind. Always," she said, and began exiting Rem's field of vision. He sat there staring straight ahead even as she disappeared past his peripherals, and even after he couldn't hear her footsteps anymore. As Emma closed the door behind her, she pressed her back against it and tilted her eyes up to the ceiling, surprised that the moment left her feeling free to some degree. She had spent such a long, long time avoiding being friends with anybody, avoiding men she might be able to love some day, all because she never wanted to owe anybody any information about herself. The road had been so lonely for such a long time and now that she was finally persuaded to have a human moment regarding her past, she came to an understanding that she had been making a lifelong mistake. But then again . . . maybe it had all been less of a mistake and more of a punishment. She'd done something terrible, and was sure she'd never get over it entirely. But . . . really, could she truly not redeem over twenty years worth of good deeds for just one ray of sunshine in a life that had been largely covered in the darkness of night? She thought she could, but felt guilty when she left the decision in her own hands.

Her eyes closed and she looked back on the day that she returned to Juniper and slaughtered all of the inhabitants. She had even killed the children because she was so wrought with anger and vengeance that she thought it fitting by some ironically amusing logic to relieve them of their ensuing torture without parents, much like she had done for her teacher. Like she had done for her brother. She had known for years that she had been wrong. In fact, she knew she had made a mistake the second she put the last bullet in the last child's head. And now, she still knew. Sometimes, she wondered what she was still doing alive, and concluded that the reason for that was because she was weak. She was too weak to hold her anger at bay back then, and was too weak now to dispense the punishment she was sure she deserved. As she went into bed and covered herself up with blankets, searching for warmth, she thought that maybe she'd tell someone about her mistake one day and let them decide what should happen with her. As she wondered who that might be, she thought that . . . Rem wasn't such a bad choice. He was young, he was passionate about his work, unlike her, and would likely hold nothing back.

By the time Emma had fallen asleep, Rem was still awake, lying down on the long couch with blankets covering his body up to the abdomen. His arms were crossed behind his head and his eyes were staring at the worn ceiling while he was wondering about his father. If this lifestyle was what Emma was making it out to be, then he must have had certain moments throughout his life that had changed him as well, and he wished he could know what they were. Just then, he recalled the serenity with which his father faced his final moments. First, he bargained as best he could for his son's life and right afterwards, he looked up and stared straight up at those two shotgun barrels without even blinking, until they spewed pellets. While the memory of it weighed heavily on him, he found some comfort in the fact that there had always been more to his father than killing raiders, and he was understanding that now. He had also been steady. If certain death coupled with the prospective death of his son right afterwards couldn't derail him from his sound train of thought, nothing could.

**Mojave Desert **

**August 4th 12:55 pm **

**2267**

That night, Rem slept soundly. He was out through the entirety of the night and long into the morning, and it wasn't until Emma thought it fit to go up to him and pat his face a few times that he woke up. His eyes opened slowly and he began yawning while he heard her voice, "Rise and shine. It's late. I warmed the water not too long ago." Rem finished his yawn and sunk into the couch again, on his back, but his eyes didn't close. "Come on," she encouraged, and he finally listened. He could have slept another while but before he made this worse for himself, he just sat up to get it over with. The blankets dripped off his person and after he shoved them off, he stood up and began walking in the direction of the bathroom. Emma couldn't help but smirk as she watched him go, glancing at his rear, amused at the fact that she could see the apex of the split between the cheeks just above the line of his boxer briefs.

They didn't have an irrigation system here but they did have water available. Rem had gone out to get it a few nights before, and it served them for household purposes. So, he closed the door behind him and looked around for the warmed water that Emma had mentioned. It was in a large bucket there, and when he dipped his finger in it, he figured it was just a tad warmer than room temperature. It wasn't quite as warm as he would have liked but beggars couldn't be choosers. Emma had done him the favor, and he sure as hell didn't want to go outside and heat it again. When he poured the water on himself, he shivered, but got used to it after a while and continued. When he stepped out, Emma was seated on the couch, looking pensive. "What's on yer mind?" he asked. She glanced in his direction, "How long you're taking." Rem blew air out of his mouth, "Wut, are we goin' somewhere?" Surprisingly, Emma nodded her head to him. "As a matter of fact, we are. We're just going to go get Louise and head off somewhere else. See if we can find something to do." Rem nodded and turned towards his clothes, and approached them.

Each of them was ready at about the same time, and they stepped out of the market not really saying much. Once they were outside and the sunlight came barreling down towards them, covering them in an envelope of warmth, they looked around in every direction. "It ain't too hot," Rem mentioned. "Yet," she retorted, as they both began stepping forth. The two of them were carrying duffle bags filled with supplies, and Rem had held off on using a stimpak to heal up his arm, so he still appeared to be favoring his wound. He decided he'd risk walking around injured if it meant that they could use the miracle of medicinal science when it was truly necessary. "So, where are we gonna go once we git outta the area?" It took Emma a few moments to respond, but she did eventually. "Nevada." She didn't explain why, and naturally, that was precisely what Rem would have liked to know most. "Why?" he asked, and she began her simple answer, "Why not? I just thought we'd switch it up." His eyebrows rose, but he decided to leave the topic alone, thinking he really didn't have much reason to go against it "Awright then. Nevada," he concluded, and Emma nodded.

When they reached a high plateau, it had been about two hours since they had left the run down market behind. They were surrounded with sand, rocks, and in front of them there was a huge drop. One they had walked all the way around to circumvent when they traveled the opposite direction. They could see ahead for miles, and they could also see the farm where Louise was being kept. They had left her there so she could be outfitted with horseshoes, and for other . . . grooming purposes, the farmer called it. Normally, Rem wouldn't have left her with anyone, but after they had helped the family out with a problem they had been having, he thought it wasn't a bad prospect. This whole thing was a way to pay the two of them back. "It's been two weeks, so I figure they're finished." Rem nodded his head and began walking off to one side, "Yup. Well, let's git goin'. I wanna see how Louise is doin'." Emma turned away from the drop and began following behind her student.

They were navigating the twists and turns as they walked downhill, looking to find the level ground all the way at the base of the hillside, but before they reached the bottom, Emma spoke. "Wait." Rem came to a complete stop and as she walked up to his side, glancing straight to their left, he followed the same direction she was viewing and saw something odd flickering about. It must have been about a hundred yards and some change away. Looking closely, he was able to make out a few orange wings flapping about, carrying aloft some odd, green creature that he had never seen before in his life. "The hell is it?" Emma stared but she didn't answer. After that, she began reaching towards her back, removing her sniper rifle. "Emma, let me git a shot at it." Her head turned slowly to glance at him, "It's movements are too erratic. You aren't going to get it. Besides, I'm better equipped." As Rem glanced at the creature, he was reminded of the times his father trained him with rifles to shoot bloatflies. Bloatflies, like these . . . things, moved erratically, but they were smaller. He had never hit one at distances over thirty yards. "Yew just wait 'n see," he said, removing his rifle from his back, wincing as a sharp pain in his right arm clawed at him.

Emma stood back as Rem climbed up on a higher plateau and knelt down, pointing the barrel of the repeater forth. She knew he was a pretty good shot, but she still didn't think he'd nail this thing at this range. "I keep telling you to gather materials so they can make you a scope for that thing at the Center." Rem's lips dipped at the corners and his nose scrunched up at the proposition, "Naw. Scopes are intrusive. They just git in the way." Emma glanced at the insect again, disconcerted about how stubborn he was, and began waiting. A long while went by and when she got impatient, she glanced at him again. "Today or tomorrow?" Rem kept staring ahead, the tip of his barrel leaning from one side to the other almost imperceptibly. "Yew gotta be patient, Emma. 'Sides, we ain't been seen. We ain't in a hurry." She turned ahead again and waited. Another while went by and this time, she turned and spoke with more irritation in her tone. "Would you - - " her voice was cut off by the loud sound of his rifle spitting its flat nosed projectile forth. She turned her head to see and saw the creature fluttering in the air still. "Told you you would miss." A moment later, the thing stopped flapping its wings and fell into the sand, kicking some of it up in every direction. It lay motionless. "Hah! My shot's truer than the sky above our heads, Emma!" Rem exclaimed in triumph. "Took me a lil while to gauge her movements, but I got her!" Emma didn't return the excitement in Rem's loud voice, but she knew a good shot when she saw one. "Not bad," she said, "Now let's go get a look at it."

As they approached the creature, Emma was on point. The two of them stopped walking once they were about four feet in front of it. From there, they could see everything, from its large, rust colored wings to the metallic sheen of its body. From afar, it looked green, but up close, it looked bluish blackish. Its eyes were red, and it had this enormous stinger that the two of them immediately knew was lethal. "Jeez, Emma, you ever see a stinger that big?" As he posed the question, he smirked. "Not even in the moistest of dreams, Rem," she responded, dryly. Then, they saw the thing shift and flutter its wings uselessly attempting to elevate itself off the ground. As it did, they watched the spiky protrusions on its back inflate. Emma drew her revolver, pointed it at its head and pulled the trigger. The creature went lifeless again as it dropped in a crunch, its hard exoskeleton cracking. "These thangs are tough," Rem commented, as Emma holstered her weapon again. "They sure are. Maybe the Dale family knows something about it." After that, she stepped past it, made sure to keep a safe distance, and Rem followed her, glancing to his side at it just in case it revived. Eventually, they were far away enough from it.

They arrived at the farm in the evening, and from a distance, they could see lights on inside. The stalls were a few yards away from the house itself, where Louise was presumably kept. Before they got too close, however, Emma called, "Johnathan Dale!" A few moments of silence. Then, an answer. "Who is out there?" Rem responded this time, "Rem and Emma! We're here to pick up Louise!" The door opened up and out came Johnathan, an older man with overalls, plaid button up, and boots. His black hair was mostly hidden away under his hat. "Oh, it's you two!" Behind him, his wife watched from the doorway and then their young son peeked his head out as well. The three of them greeted each other and Rem lifted his hand overhead, waving at John's wife and her child. They returned the gesture and Rem lowered it, glancing at Johnathan, breathing in the faint scent of cigarettes and sweat. "Louise is all ready, but Megan says you two should spend the night. It's dark out, anyway. Megan will cook us up a nice dinner and you guys can be on your way tomorrow." Johnathan watched as Emma's helmeted head nodded to him, "Sounds good. Thanks a lot, Johnathan."

As they followed the farm owner inside, Emma removed her helmet and the young boy, whose name was Jerry, ran up to Rem. "Hey, kid," Rem responded as he reached out and patted his head. "I shot a gecko the other day!" Rem chuckled and began shaking his head, "Not bad." Jerry's winsome excitement made it easy for Rem to tolerate him, probably because his demeanor was similar to his when he was younger. "What'd ya use?" The boy answered without skipping a beat, "My dad's laser pistol!" Rem's disappointment was immediately reflected in his face, "C'mon now. How do ya expect there to be anythin' left if yer goin' around disintegratin' most of yer food?" Jerry's eyebrows raised, "Well, you're right. Dad said the same thing." Rem shook his head, "Energy weapons aint such a good choice when yer huntin' fer food. Try usin' yer dad's 357. next time." Jerry nodded his head a few times and went off while Rem followed the rest of the adults into the living room. Emma wasn't there. She was presumably upstairs in the spare bedroom, changing clothes, and Megan was pacing into the kitchen.

"So, how'd it go?" Johnathan asked, gesturing for Rem to take a seat as well. He obliged, plopping down, glad to rest his legs finally. "It didn't go particularly well. They said it was Vipers. We went to their HQ, got rid of 'em, but we failed to save a prisoner." Johnathan leaned back in his chair and shook his head, "Well, you win some and you lose some. At the least, you got rid of those Vipers." Rem nodded his head and winced. Johnathan responded, "You're hurt? You need first aid?" Rem shook his head, "Naw, we got a stimpak but I'm savin' the thang for when we actually need it. This'll heal up all on its own eventually." Johnathan shook his head, "Nonsense. Here, I got two stimpaks, let me go get one." Rem cut in before he could go, "Sir, if yew give me another stimpak, I'll just store it away fer later. Thanks anyway. I really appreciate it." Johnathan sat back down and breathed out, "Well . . . alright." Rem tried to assuage him, "Trust me, that food yer wife's cookin' up is more than enough."

After they had all gathered around the table and the food had been served, the five of them began to eat. Rem savored the steak for every second of it, thoroughly enjoying it. "This is the best food I've had in a long time, Mrs. Dale." Emma chewed as well, also enjoying it. It was a change of pace from gecko and bloatfly. "Why thank you, Rem. It's the least we can do," she assured. The food on Rem's plate was almost gone when he remembered, "Say, Mr. Dale, we saw a creature earlier that we ain't never seen before." Emma swallowed her food and glanced at Johnathan, clarifying further, "Big insect of some kind. Orange wings, bluish blackish carapace." Johnathan glanced from one to the other, "Woah. That was a Cazador. They usually only come out at night and in numbers." Rem was eating his food while he listened, and he didn't speak until there was nothing left in his mouth, "This one was out in plain sunlight. Alone, too." Johnathan's voice rumbled, "Well, you two got lucky. Those things usually spell disaster out in the Mojave. They're poisonous, too, but with the size of their stingers, that's just to make sure." Emma placed more steak in her mouth and Rem nodded, "Awright. Cazador. I'll remember that."

"They started popping up around here about three years ago. I don't know where they've been coming from," Megan commented. Emma answered, "From what I understand, the post war world is just one huge breeding ground for mutations. Radroaches, mole rats, mantises, all of them used to be a lot smaller. I wouldn't be surprised if Cazadores are some other pre world creature that mutated and got a lot bigger." Johnathan nodded his head, "That's interesting. They teach you a lot at Ranger Center, don't they?" Emma set down the clean rag she had been using to clean her mouth and answered, "Well, they do. But what I just told you, I learned from a guy named Sawyer Finnegan. Another Desert Ranger." Rem was finished by then as well, and began standing up, "Well, thanks for the dinner, Mrs. Dale. I'm gonna go take a look at Louise now, if yew don't mind." Johnathan courteously welcomed him to do just that, "Go right ahead."

Stepping into the stables, he saw four horses inside, but the golden brown sheen of Louise's fur set her apart from the rest. "Hey girl," Rem cooed, standing in front of her as he reached out and stroked her mane. After glancing at her eyes, he glanced down to her horseshoes, which were sleek and new. Her fur was softer, too, than what he remembered. "They got yew all prettied up, huh," he added, and it made him laugh when she began nodding her head. It was purely by chance, of course, but he always acted like she was more sentient than she actually was. She'd been with him for a while, and by now, he considered her more like the only family member he still had left alive more than just some speedy method of travel. "We'll be headin' out tomorrow wit' Emma. We're goin' back home, awright?" After that, he leaned in and placed a kiss on top of her face and began stepping away.

As per usual, Rem slept out in the living room. Emma always made it a point to sleep somewhere apart from him, and Rem could only imagine that it was because he had come onto her a few times when she allowed him to sleep close to her. At first, he felt guilty but now, he didn't really regret it as much. He couldn't help the fact that he was so attracted to her, after all. That was what he was thinking about as he lay there on the couch, listening to the sounds of the house and the sounds of what was going on outside. The wind was blowing, and sometimes, it'd whistle an eerie little tune at him. Other times, he'd hear Johnathan's dog's chains rattling as he moved about. The dog was kept chained up inside of a fairly spacy enclosure so that he could bark without having to worry much about the wasteland predators it was there to warn everyone about. It was about as safe as you could get without designating someone for night watch and another for day watch.


	11. Dread and comfort

**Mojave Desert ( Nevada )**

**August 19th 8:43 pm**

**2267 **

"There's an okay area," Emma said, pointing out towards an old, two story building as they rode along on Louise's back. Parts of its outer walls were missing, and inside, there were no lights on. It looked like it was empty. "Awright," Rem answered, and tugged on the reins gently while pushing his left leg in against the horse's body, causing her to sway right until they were on course with their destination. Before they arrived, Emma drew her revolver and as Louise came to a stop, she let go of Rem's lower torso and hopped off. She landed on her feet with a thud and aimed the gun in every direction, the low light optics in her helmet allowing her to make everything out as if the sun was out. "Clear," she said, and Rem approached a large, sturdy column and dismounted. Immediately, he tied Louise to it with a highwayman's knot and drew his forty five pistol, jogging towards Emma as she approached a window.

"I'll take this entrance. You find another," Emma ordered, and Rem nodded, jogging off in another direction while Emma hoisted herself up and dropped in through the window, landing as silently as she could with twenty five pounds of armor on her. She looked from one side to the next and saw nothing. The ground inside was dusty because most of the windows were broken, and with time, the wind had carried dust through them. _Looks like nobody's been here for a while_, she thought, venturing further inside, moving slowly so as to keep her steps silent, and eventually came upon a room that had a sign hanging atop the double doors. _Cafeteria, _she read to herself, reaching out to them and pushing them open as slowly as she could. She didn't make a sound, and when she stepped through, she saw that there was one table with plates on it and beside those, there were two caravan decks. People had been here recently.

Her search eventually led her towards an iron cabinet that looked like it had been dragged in there, and she opened it. Her eyes fell on a plethora of weapons in moderate to good condition. Assault rifles, submachine guns, and one combat shotgun. It looked like whoever the people who were living here were, they were just normal wastelanders. She closed the cabinets and turned just in time to feel someone hovering over her. Her shoulders jumped and she pointed the revolver at him. "Fuck," she uttered, in surprise, and Rem held his hands up. "Woah, woah, it's me, Emma. Relax." She lowered the revolver and holstered it, "I could have shot you. Announce yourself next time, dumb ass." Rem smiled mischievously, knowing that he had done it because he wanted to see if he could sneak up on her. Lo and behold, he most definitely could. "Awright, awright," he conceded, and turned around, walking towards the refrigerators in the cafeteria while Emma searched other areas.

With his free hand, Rem reached out to the refrigerator door and pulled it open, looking at the things inside lit up by the refrigerator bulb. There was one single plate there with pieces of meat skewered on three wooden sticks. He reached out and grabbed one of them, holding it close to his face, examining it. "Gecko. I guess beggars can't be choosers," and he began bringing it to his mouth. He bit a piece off and chewed, closing his eyes when he realized that the texture and taste was . . . odd. "Eugh," he spat it down to the floor as Emma paced to his side, looking at the plate inside the refrigerator. "It tasted nasty, and spongy, ma'am. Is it spoiled?" Emma removed her helmet and leaned in to the stick Rem was holding, and after sniffing it, her eyes went small and a disgusted look contorted her face. "Put that down, idiot. It's human meat." Rem's eyes widened and he threw it back onto the plate inside. The disgust of it welled up within him and gave him a sudden bout of nausea, and then he caved. Emma watched him move towards a nearby sink and expel the contents of his stomach into it as she put her helmet back on.

"Cannibals live here. Don't let your guard down," Emma ordered as Rem turned to look at her over his shoulder. "Eugh," he complained as he wiped his mouth and drew his pistol, looking around while Emma did the same. "Let's split up and search." Rem was still reeling from the fact that he had almost ingested human meat but managed to nod as Emma began moving away. "Wudda we do if we find 'em?" Emma answered with no hesitation, "This doesn't look like famine. They're eating human meat because they like it." Rem asked, "So kill 'em?" She nodded a few times and made her way to the door she used to enter the cafeteria but just before she got there, she heard some yelling. "Who's in there?" Immediately, Rem steeled himself against the discomfort of his stomach churning and began moving away from the cafeteria and into another section of the establishment. Emma watched him leave and took cover behind a wall, knowing that she was the bait to give him the jump on whoever might come inside.

"I know you're in there!" the man yelled, firing a gunshot. "Come on out!" Emma finally took it upon herself to respond. "You live here?" Her tone was relaxed. "Of course I live here, dumb ass! Now get the hell out of my house!" Another gunshot erupted and then silence followed. Emma answered after a while, knowing that they were dealing with the cannibal responsible for the human flesh in the refrigerator now, "You're going to have to stop popping warning shots if you want this to go smoothly!" At that point, Rem was approaching a window so that he could take a peek outside. After waiting, he got a glance and saw one man standing there with a revolver pointing skyward. Louise was close, but unharmed, and he was glad. As he looked further along, he saw another male, looking to walk around to the back of the establishment. Rem could already see the likeliest entrance that the younger man would use. _Just two of 'em. This'll be easy_, he thought.

"There's eight of us in here! I don't suggest you come inside. If you do, we'll shoot first and ask questions later!" The man immediately burst into laughter, "Eight people, one horse? I find it hard to believe six or seven of you walked here!" He paused, thinking about it. If this woman thought it fit to bluff, she was likely alone. "I know you're alone in there! And there's . . .five of us!" Laughter followed his words, not caring if whether she would buy his mocking bluff or not. As his son reached the point where he'd walk around back, he turned around to look at his father. Two pairs of green eyes made contact and the father nodded, gesturing for him to go ahead. "You're in trouble now! You can't see what's going on everywhere by yourself!" At that point, Rem hid himself behind a desk, in a shadow, and watched as the door opened. He saw the son step through, equipped with a combat shotgun. _Bad call, _Rem thought, and watched him close the door behind him. "We're coming inside now!"

The man slowly stepped through the front door, confident as can be when he heard a gunshot that didn't sound like a shotgun. He stopped, waiting for return fire, but nothing. "Kyle!" He was answered with silence, and while Rem stood there, with the dead Kyle at his feet, he turned to glance in the direction of the father's voice through the walls. "Kyle! You alright in there?" The despair in his voice was intensifying, until it exploded. "I'm going to kill you, bitch!" He ran in, firing bullets randomly until he barged into the cafeteria, wrought with rage. "You better not have killed my - - " another gunshot erupted, and a 44 caliber bullet blasted its way through the right side of his head. As blood splattered, he fell to the floor, and Emma stepped towards him until he was at her feet. "That's one less cannibal to worry about," she spat, as Rem entered the cafeteria. "It's clear, ma'am. I counted jus' two of 'em."

Emma knelt down and turned the body over, looting whatever he had, something Rem had already done with the other one. "Anyway, ma'am, we should git goin' 'fore their friends come knockin'." Emma stood up with a bag of caps and other supplies in hand, "No. We'll make camp here, stand watch four hours at a time, and wait for the rest to come back. If there indeed are more of them, we'll kill them." Rem's eyebrows raised, but he couldn't dislike the idea. Not one bit. "Awright, ma'am. Sounds good," he said, voice replete with enthusiasm. "We'll hole up on the first floor in a room facing out to the front entrance. Lights off, as little noise as possible with Louise." Rem acknowledged that without saying anything and stepped out to get the horse.

If this had been two years ago, bringing Louise up to the second floor would have been a glaring red light. However, after encountering problems like these on a frequent basis and being forced to leave her somewhere else while they conducted business, Rem decided to do his damndest to train her. It resulted in an awkward, but ultimately satisfying method. With her front legs, she walked and once her rear legs had to follow, she'd jump them up. The entire way, Rem was leading her along by the reins, cooing and making smooching noises at her for encouragement. Emma stood at the end of that flight of stairs, watching Rem work, thinking about how she had been so adamant about getting rid of the monstrosity when Rem had only been her student for about a month. When he vowed to fix the problem, she thought it silly, but eventually caved and even helped out on a few occasions. Now, she deeply appreciated Louise's services because she didn't inconvenience them as much anymore. Still, she felt that she wouldn't sully her hands with menial tasks like this one anymore, especially because the horse belonged to Rem. "Chop chop," she sardonically encouraged as she turned away and vacated the area.

Before long, Louise was tied down in a room that faced out to the front of the establishment. The door was closed and Emma was lying on a mattress covered with blankets that they had brought along with them, in one corner of the room. Rem was seated next to the window, scouting for anything outside that might move. However, as he peered into the boring stillness outside, his mind wandered elsewhere. Wandered to something inside the room. To Emma. His vision slowly dragged over and let it brush along her face covered in loose brown hair, and then down to the naked leg sticking out from under her blanket. _C'mon Rem . . . _ he thought, _Yew know it ain't right. _As he cast his blue eyes back through the window and glanced with only half a mind, he thought about what it was like at first. The first times he came onto her, he did it knowing he didn't want anything long term. Then, being rejected so many times and after not giving up on it for this long, he sometimes began to imagine that a lasting relationship actually could be possible. What the hell, he'd think, and that's when he'd scare himself. Then he'd internally berate himself. He'd gotten to start caring about Emma as a person at this point, and was sure that she was too good for this kind of selfish speculation and still, the most compelling compulsion inside him was to strip her naked. It was frustrating.

The hours passed, and then he heard Emma breath out as her body shifted. "How long has it been?" Rem turned away from the window and answered while he watched her, "Five hours, ma'am." She turned her body and glanced towards her makeshift nightstand, which was nothing but a slab of rock upheld by rubble. There was an old, beat up alarm clock sitting atop it. Sure enough, it had been five hours. "Why didn't you wake me?" Rem smirked, "Yew looked cozy, ma'am." Her eyes paused as the thought that he had probably watched her sleep crossed her mind. Though she was relieved that he hadn't come onto her during her sleep, like he had many times before, she couldn't help but wonder if he'd gotten over her. Was he no longer interested? She felt stupid when she didn't like the idea of that all that much. Even though she had never given him what she knew he wanted . . . it was satisfying to have him after her at times. It was hard for even her to understand, really, but it was how she felt. "Alright, your turn," she eventually said, and Rem began standing up.

Next thing, he had taken his blazer off, his kevlar vest, his shirt, his boots, and had unbuttoned his pants before crawling into the sheets Emma had warmed up for him. "Nice an' warm . . . " he commented as she began putting on her armor. Her helmet fell into place and she turned to glance at him, watching his eyes close and his body relax into a seemingly comfortable position. _Smells like her, too,_ Rem thought. After a while, sleep dragged him off the way the tide drags sand into the ocean on its way back, and Emma was the one all alone with her thoughts this time. The reason why she hadn't gotten intimate with Rem was because she wanted to maintain a semblance of hierarchy. It felt like if she let it get to that point, he'd see her more as a peer than a teacher, and that could entirely derail the purpose of him being her student. Regardless, she couldn't really deny to herself anymore that with every passing month, the prospect of cutting loose and letting sex happen in all of its sultry glory was starting to become very alluring. Especially during moments like these, when she was starting to feel like life was passing her by and she was getting old.

**Mojave Wasteland **

**August 20th 9:26 am**

**2267**

Rem woke to the sunrise the next morning. His eyes opened to look around and he saw Louise standing there, eating hay off the floor. Then he looked towards the window and saw Emma sitting next to it with no helmet on, drinking from a bottle of Nuka Cola while she watched him. "Nothing," she declared, with a disappointed tone. Rem let his head drop against the mattress again and then contorted his body, breathing out as he stretched. "Well . . . it ain't our fault. It was prolly jus' them, Emma. If it was more, it'd be bad, what with them tryin' to eat each other and all o' that." Emma peered out through the window again. She ruminated in silence, drinking from the bottle as Rem settled again and stared at the ceiling. "Wudda we do now?" She set her drink down and shrugged with a lack of enthusiasm, "I guess we'll leave. Pahrump is nearby. We'll go there to sell the stuff we found, and see where we go from there." She picked up her drink again, hoisted herself up, and Rem came out of bed as well.

"So, what's it like in Pahrump?" As Rem asked the question, he tied supplies onto Louise's body. Once they had been secured, he apologetically rubbed the side of her neck, "I know we're heavy as is, darlin', so we're walkin' from here." Emma paced up to the two of them and answered, "Quaint." Rem pressed his lips together, "Last time yew said that," she cut him off calmly. "No, really, it's not so bad there. There's a functioning community on the east side of the town. They have a general supply store, and most importantly, a brothel that doubles as an inn." One of Rem's eyebrows arched towards his forehead, "Most importantly, ma'am?" She smirked under the helmet. Sometimes, she was deeply appreciative of the fact that the head wear kept her expressionless. "It's their jewel. Most of the people that come through, come through for the brothel. It brings business to their entire community." Rem answered with a mischievous tone as he shook his head, "Oh, I see, ma'am."

As they walked along the seemingly limitless expanse of the Mojave, leaving behind bits of old world remnants and sand, Rem kept a wary eye. The same wary eye that all Desert Rangers were taught to have. Emma didn't fail to do the same until some hours and some heavy sweat later, the town of Pahrump was within the scope of their vision. It was an enormous town that wasn't struck directly by the bombs. However, at first glance, it was hard to tell that. Rem perused the details of the quiet locale, saw destruction, and lots of it. There was graffiti on the walls, bullet marks, blood stains, and here and there, Rem even saw skeletons. "Wut's that werd yew used again, Emma?" There was a pause between them, and Rem eventually recalled, "Quaint? I'd say this is the exact opposite o' quaint, ma'am." Emma responded first by releasing an exasperated breath, and then spoke, "Naturally, the whole town isn't a functioning community, Rem. It's too large. Fiends used to frequent the area but they've been hunted by mercenaries." Rem immediately assumed that the people who had done the hiring must've been the people living in that community that Emma mentioned earlier.

"Still, keep your eyes open. Travelers get attacked on occasion." Rem didn't exactly feel too comfortable when she said that. Sometimes, he thought that she was too confident. Maybe that was something that came with having most of your body under the cover of armor. That was fine for Emma, at least, but he only had a kevlar vest on under his blazer that, while it would help, it wouldn't work the wonders that the black armor she was wearing would. "I ain't exactly comfortable wit' the idea that we can be ambushed any time now, ma'am. 'Specially out here in the open." Two steps later, they heard a voice yelling, "Identify yourselves!" Rem immediately drew his pistol and pointed in the direction of the voice while Emma remained calm. "Put your gun down," she ordered, and then proceeded. "Travelers. Desert Rangers, here to visit Eastside." A man emerged from around cover wearing blue combat armor and armed with a sleek laser rifle. He kept it trained on Emma at first, but eventually lowered it. "Alright. We'll escort you." Rem turned a glance to Emma and holstered his weapon, wanting an explanation. She sensed it, "They send people out to protect business prospects."

Emma and Rem watched the black haired man's steps gradually bring him to them. He looked gritty with a scar on his left cheek and a thick beard. "That's exactly right," he answered, stopping right in front of them. A silent pause ensued and then, out of nowhere and very, very fluidly, Emma stepped forward as she drew her revolver and pushed it up under the man's chin. Her other hand reached out to the laser rifle, holding it in place while her green visors came close to the bearded man's face. The surprise was immediately recognizable in his expression. In the corner of his periphery, Rem saw movement and instantly drew his pistol and aimed at it. There was a woman in combat armor as well, with an assault rifle trained on him over cover, but before too long, he paced behind Emma and aimed around her. Aside from the fact that Emma was wearing armor, she also had a meat shield. "What the hell's this?" he asked once he was able to. Emma calmly began her interrogation, "Just answer a question and everything will be alright. There's a going rate in Eastside. How much are they paying you?" Without pause, he answered, "Fifteen percent," he said, and added again, "Fifteen percent." The gun eased and fell right back into Emma's holster.

The last time Emma had been here, the rate for armed escorts had been at the twelve percent mark, but she took more than just accuracy into account to decide if whether he was telling the truth or not. Firstly, a raider troup would likely immediately retaliate with force after what she did. Secondly, someone who was posing could feasibly say something more like a certain number of caps a night, which Emma knew wouldn't be the case. Thirdly, and most influentially, the certainty with which he responded also was an indication. "I apologize," she began. "Any guy can come out here and play it like Eastside's armed escort. Lead us off somewhere and make short work of us." As he recovered from the scare, he took a few moments to simply stare into Emma's green visors. Rem was certain he wasn't too happy, but what was he going to do? "Uh huh. Follow me," he finally said, and Rem holstered his weapon and began following after Emma, Louise in tow.

The other figure in combat armor eventually convened with her counterpart as the group walked, and she, too, looked gritty. Her hair was short, down to a buzz, and there was a scar spanning down one corner of both her small, pink lips. The first person she glanced at was Rem, staring straight into his eyes for a while, and he returned the glance. "I would have put one right between those dainty blue eyes, pretty boy," she declared. Rem answered with mock surprise, "I ain't ever been called pretty before 'til now." A pause. "Least that makes one of us." Her lips twitched, curving upwards at the corners nigh imperceptibly. "I like being ugly," she proudly pointed out. "Gewd, 'cause yew ain't got much of a choice," he quipped in return. This time, that subtle smile turned into a laugh. Even Emma couldn't help but arch her lips under her black helmet. As the laughter came to a slow stop, she spoke, the amusement still present in her tone, "So, what are you here for? Please tell me you're going to the brothel." Rem shook his head, "Naw." He wondered why, exactly, she would say it like that. "Why would that be gewd fer you?" She turned ahead and responded, "We get fifteen percent of your spending in the town, and the brothel usually nets us the most caps."

It took just over an hour to arrive in Eastside. When they got there, Rem took a good, long look at the way it had been built. There were tall walls lining it, constructed out of whatever scrap metal sheets they could get their hands on, and there were guards standing on the high catwalks. There weren't very many of them, but they were there. "Not bad," Rem commented. Pat, which had revealed her name during the walk here, responded, "You wouldn't wanna get stuck with that job, cupcake. Just in the last month, two of those guards were killed by sniper fire. Two at once." Her partner, which had revealed his name to be Bruce, added, "Good men, too. They would have wanted something more spectacular." Emma had been silent nearly the entire way, but Rem hadn't. "Wus there a followin' attack afterwards?" Pat shook her head, "Nope. They did it for shits and giggles," she answered as the front double gates began to open with intermittent, metallic screeches. After Rem and Emma reached the entrance threshold, the two escorts stayed behind at the gates and Rem turned around to glance at them, "See ya'll later." Pat saluted lackadaisically, commenting as she did, "Don't be a pansy and go get laid." Bruce merely nodded in acknowledgment before turning around and heading back off to work.

Once the gates had closed behind them, the two of them were revealed to the inner workings of Eastside. Nothing was exactly in pristine condition, but a lot of the houses there that had been built before the war were being used as dwellings. The people who walked the streets were armed, as usual, but what was most interesting was that none of them looked like broke chem junkies. Rem turned to glance ahead at Emma's back as a man approached them, wearing combat armor just like the armor that Pat and Bruce had been wearing. "Welcome to Eastside," he said, with an assertive tone. In his hands, there was a plasma rifle nestled placidly. "Name's Josh, head of peacekeeping around here. There are a couple of things you should know." Emma stopped and so did Rem, and the two of them listened silently. "Firstly, lots of people like it here. What that means is that if you put the town in jeopardy in any way, it won't only be me coming at you full force. The rest of the town's gonna join the party, too. Secondly, no chems. We don't want you taking chems, or using them in Eastside. If we find you using them or selling them, we'll kick you out and if you don't go peacefully, we'll save ourselves the trouble and take the more expedient road. It'll net us whatever you have on you, too, so that's just gravy for us. Understood?" Emma answered without waiting long at all, "Got it." With that, she stepped past Josh and Rem followed, "Nice town you got here, just so yew know." Josh turned as Rem passed him by and answered, "Glad you think so."

"So, ma'am, this town ain't so bad. Road's rough if yew run into trouble but the safety of thangs here is a relief." Emma responded, "Nowhere's entirely safe, Rem. Don't ever feel comfortable." There were times when he felt she was too stern, and this was one of those times. Whenever he brought it up, however, she always replied with, _As well as being paranoid, I'm also still alive. _It made sense, of course. But sometimes, he thought that she wasn't just stern and paranoid. She was also unhappy. With what, he had no clue. "Awright, ma'am," he responded. "Where to, first?" he asked. "The brothel?" She answered, "If you want to go, go." Rem smiled in response, "Naw. I ain't interested in payin' for it. I want it free." At first, Emma felt a pang of regret after she encouraged him to go, but was somehow relieved that he declined. _Stupid_, she thought.

As they walked along the streets of Eastside, Rem eventually got a good glimpse at the brothel, and was actually quite impressed with it. "Shawna's Ranch," Rem said, coercing Emma to turn her head in the direction. She, too, saw the . . . appeal the place had. It wasn't exactly well preserved on the outside, but the place was huge, and from what she could see inside from where she was, it looked cozy. There was music playing, too. "They got a bar, Emma. Yew wanna go have a drink after we're done at the store?" Emma answered, "I'm tired. All I want is some sleep." Rem breathed out in disappointment, "Fine, suit yerself." He couldn't remember the last time she walked into a bar with him. He knew she indulged sometimes, but never at a bar. He remembered that she fancied wine.

At the general store, they were able to sell the supplies they had and buy some that they needed but when it came to parting with the weapons they had found, they were directed to Josh again, who would be the most interested in them. He could always use weapons with which to arm his group of guards. Rem and Emma were glad to see that he didn't cut things short when it came to this. He purchased every weapon, every bullet, and left the two travelers feeling very comfortable about the amount of caps that they had on them now. "You have enough caps to visit the brothel now." Rem smirked, "Naw. I'm just gonna go get a drink, that's all." After a few moments pause, he got bold, "Yew know yer the only woman fer me, Emma." Her chest tingled and if it wasn't the helmet hiding her expression, she would have panicked. "Of course," she said, sarcastically. Rem shook his head, smirking, "Don't forgit that, ma'am." She stayed silent, and Rem figured she wouldn't bother with the small talk any further.

They reached Shawna's ranch after finding a place where Louise could be watched after, and entered. As soon as they did, they were greeted by two tall, beautiful women in thongs, bra, and matching high heels. They immediately swarmed the two, "Welcome to Shawna's ranch. Where all your fantasies can be catered to." Their voices rumbled seductively, and Rem just didn't have it in him to curb his sudden arousal. "Thank yew . . . " he said while Emma just walked right past them, ignoring them entirely. Rem slowly walked by, glancing at the one with the dark skin. She looked at him with a pair of bedroom eyes that were incredibly hard to resist. Looking ahead again, he saw Emma standing in front of the equally appealing receptionist, and Rem arrived just in time to hear the transaction. "So one bed?" Emma answered, "Yes." Rem knew the implications of that. She wouldn't even get two twin size beds because she didn't want him in the same room. It had been like that for a while. "Well, you're still going to have to pay a hundred caps a piece." In response, Emma began the tedious process of counting them and handing them over. Two keys were given out, one for Emma and the other for Rem. "Emma, wait," he called. She turned, and found him holding his rifle out to her, "Bring this up, please?" She took it from him and began walking away, leaving Rem alone with the receptionist.

"For a couple, you two sure act strangely." Rem turned to glance at her, smiling, "Naw, it ain't like that. I'm sleepin' outside the room." The receptionist smiled, "Fight?" He shook his head, "Naw. She dudn't trust me in the same room wit' her, that's all." Now that she understood, she added, "Well, why spend the night lonely if you're not going to get some from her? The women here come with a room for the night. Five hundred caps." The price was a little steep when he thought about it, but it was well within his scope. It was difficult to, but he responded with a no, "I'm just wantin' some drinks tonight." As he turned and walked towards the bar, she watched him go, and even encouraged, "Enjoy!"

Upon reaching the bar, he saw that there were lots of lights on in there. The brothel, seemingly, had been restored to the best of someone's abilities. There was a stage in there, too, with women dancing on poles but never stripping their clothes off. It looked like the perfect tease, but as sexually deprived as Rem was, he couldn't bring himself to take the plunge. Instead, he sat down at the bar and ordered a drink, "Any cognac you got on you is fine. Heated, if yew can." The bartender turned away and heated Rem's drink before serving it up. As he took his first gulp, the man next to him turned and spoke, glancing at Rem from under a baseball cap, "Hey, I'm Glenn." Rem set his drink down and turned, "Rem." He extended his hand and the two of them shook. "So, where'd you come from?" After another serving of warm alcohol trailed down his throat, warming his chest, he responded, "I wus born in Nevada, but I was recently in Utah. Yew?" The man took a swig of his own drink and responded, "I was born in Nevada, too. I just came from a shit hole called Brownsburough." Rem's heart immediately sunk all the way to his stomach and he turned to look ahead. Half of him wanted to ask why it was a shit hole and part of him begged not to.

"Wutever the case, Glenn, thangs are better here in Eastside Pahrump." Glenn held his drink out and Rem's glass met with it, "Amen to that." The two of them took a good gulp and when Rem set the cup down, his eyes were staring straight ahead. The aura around him from the time of arrival to now had changed while Glenn remained the same. The conversations, the music, and everything else going on around him began to fade into the background as he found himself lost in rumination. Glenn turned his attention back to him eventually, "Try the brothel yet?" Rem averted the question entirely, "Say, wut's goin' on in Brownsburough?" Glenn answered, "You heard about the Khans?" The look on Rem's face was enough to convey that the answer was no. "These guys showed up recently in the Mojave. Bunch of raiders, basically, but they're more deliberate and coordinated than any other raider group I've seen. Their business is chems, and they forcefully addict lots of people if they don't kill you for what you have." He took another drink and continued as he cleared his throat, "They would have addicted me if I hadn't made them a believable business proposition. I told them I could get them all the hypos they needed for the business. Suffice to say, I'm never stepping foot there again."

After Glenn turned away again, Rem continued in deep thought. His father's grave probably wasn't even there anymore, or it had likely been desecrated by Khans looking for loot. The guilt of having taken too long to go see his father struck again. He had always thought he'd go later, when he was ready, but had apparently put it off for too long. His thoughts landed on the denizens of Brownsburough that had helped him when his father was killed shortly after. All of them were likely either dead, or addicted by now. _The Mojave's got a way of killin' the thangs we used to know_, he thought. It left him with a sense of dread, and confusion. Should he go or not? Glenn spoke to him again, "Anyway. I suggest you don't head over that way either. It's more trouble than it's worth." The irony was amusing, and Rem drank to it, answering after gulping. "Yeah, I ain't goin' over that way any time soon. Thanks fer the warnin'." He slammed the empty glass flat on the bar and stood up, speaking to the bartender. "Bottle o' chardonnay an' a glass, please." Without much of a wait, the bottle was set on the bar along with a wide glass with a thin stem. Rem paid for what he had bought and glanced at Glenn, "Nice meetin' ya, Glenn. See yew around." The two shook hands again and Rem headed off with what he had bought.

Upon arriving in front of the door, he stuck the key in the doorknob and opened it. Stepping inside, he saw Emma in the living room, wearing a shirt and her underwear. "I thought you wus tired." When she glanced at him, the first thing she saw was the wine and the glass. It took effort, but she kept herself from smiling. "Tired of you," she quipped. Rem smiled as he closed the door behind him. "I got yew yer chardonnay," he said, "I know it's yer favorite." After pacing up to her, he handed her the bottle and the glass, which she took without much delay. Then, when Rem turned his back to her, heading towards the coat rack near the door, she watched him take off his blazer. Her eyes reflected the serene glimmer of want, and she eventually averted her gaze and poured the drink. By the time Rem turned around, she was sipping at the rim of the glass, savoring the taste thoroughly before putting the liquid away. "Not bad," she said, glancing at the glass as Rem went and sat down on the couch. There, he took off his shirt and his shoes. Again, he stole her attention away and she glanced at him while she drank more wine.

"I'm actually purty tired, ma'am," he said, feeling it as Emma's weight pressed down on the other side of the couch from him. "Those women at the brothel took a toll?" Again, Rem smirked with amusement, even though he knew that he suddenly felt tired after hearing about the town of Brownsburough. No way he wanted to talk about that at all, however. Emma watched him, wondering on one end why he hadn't quipped back like he usually did, and on the other end, she wondered if he would do what she wanted him to do. As she poured another drink, he leaned forward and clasped his hands together between his knees while his elbows rested on his thighs. She could tell he was lost in thought. What could he be thinking about? "How was the bar?" The question brought him back from the trance, and his body slowly animated again. One hand reached up and scratched at his chest, "It wus easy goin'. No fights broke out." A second later, he felt some weight shifting on the couch. Turning his head to see, he saw Emma scooting her body closer to his. "Want to try it?" As she asked, she held the wine glass towards his lips, but Rem didn't respond to that. Rem could immediately see it in the way she was sitting there so close to him with her knees bent, with her eyes dim, that she . . .

Rem lost it and leaned in towards her, moving past the glass of wine and letting his lips find purchase on hers. As she leaned onto her back, embracing his advance by bringing him down with her and dropping the glass of wine in the process, she felt a sensation of seductive anticipation flood her over. "Come on," she encouraged. Her sultry tone put the whores downstairs to shame. "I know you've wanted this for a while, Rem. Give it to me. Don't waste time," she added, bringing her hands to his cheeks and lifting his head so that she could look into his attractive blue eyes. She loved it when he began pulling at her underwear like he couldn't wait anymore, and relished the sound of his zipper being pulled down. As he removed his pants, she removed her shirt, and savored the warmth she felt when he came onto her body again, placing himself between her legs and pressing his warm chest against her bare breasts. Not long after that, she felt the sweet, sweet satisfaction of his member sliding into her, and she moaned out with pure bliss rumbling in the tone of her voice as her legs wrapped around Rem's waist.

When it finally happened, Rem didn't care anymore if whether this was a one time thing, and Emma didn't care about what this would do to their teacher student relationship. Instead, a long night of satisfying and somehow . . . comforting passion ensued between the two of them.


	12. Pass judgment

**Mojave Wasteland**

**August 21st 7:37 am **

**2267 **

"Aaaahhh . . . " Emma moaned, lying face down with her rear propped up just enough for Rem to reach her interior. He simply couldn't get enough of it, and neither could she. The way she laid there under him, looking beautiful, made the moment so much more satisfying. She could hear him breathing behind her and she could hear his hips clapping against her with a fluid rhythm that pleased her to the utmost. "Uhhhh . . . yes . . .," she uttered, her seductive voice reverberating in Rem's ears, more than enough to keep him going. Her toes curled, her hands gripped the sheets, and he leaned down until his face was hovering over her shoulder without stopping, feeling it as she arched her back and came to a close.

Rem could tell each time she orgasmed. Satisfied with the fact that he'd gotten her to this point, he stopped his hips and lowered on top of her, trailing gentle kisses along the back of her neck that sent her body into a shiver. The two of them hadn't had sex all night long but they had woken up and gotten right back into it, without saying a word to each other. Until now, the silence had been alluring and comforting, but as she lay there now, she started to feel a tinge of regret. Then, a bit of frustration followed. With both herself and him. She let the flat of her face rest on the mattress while Rem continued to treat her less like this was just casual, making her feel worse. She lifted her head to speak, but found it hard to pick the right words. "If you're done . . . you can stop," she finally said, trying not to sound so harsh. Rem, however, immediately felt slighted, and it showed as he peeled his lips off the soft skin of her back and glanced towards the back of her head with an intense expression.

This whole time, he had been worried about treating _her _like a piece of meat and it turns out that he should have been more worried about it being the other way around. "Of course, ma'am," Rem returned, sarcastically making himself out to appear as though she had hired him, and began removing himself from the bed. As he paced away, walking with no clothes on towards the door that led to the living room, Emma turned onto her back and watched him go. She could almost feel the anger emanating from him and now . . . she regretted it. If this hadn't been a huge mistake before she had told him to stop, then it had just become one.

**Mojave Wasteland**

**August 21st 11:12 am **

**2267 **

Rem found himself sitting at the bar, savoring a drink that he felt he was treating himself to out of pity. Eventually, the bartender drew closer to where he was, wiping a glass until it was dry, and stared at him. "You look like you got a lot on your mind," she said. The bartender from the night before had been a man. This one was a woman with long, brown hair. She was young, too. Beautiful enough to work as an escort. "Yeah," he answered, "But I'm startin' to sort it all out." She flashed him a toothy smile and reached out her hand, "Good to know. I'm Shawna. I haven't seen you around." Rem glanced up at her again, recognizing the name. "Rem," he answered, and continued, "That would make yew the owner?" As he asked, he shook her hand and settled it back on the counter again once their fingers eased away. "Yup. I started this business four years ago." Rem lifted an eyebrow, "How old . . . were yew?" She knew that he was asking because she looked terribly young. "Fifteen. I was the first escort." Rem almost spat his drink out but instead, he choked. Shawna seemed to have the most gratified look in her eye as he did.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing his chest. "That's kinda young." As she set the cup she'd been drying down, her shoulders slowly lifted and dropped, "Had to do what I had to do. I sure as hell wasn't going to apply for guard duty. I wasn't going to be a hired gun, and I wasn't going to look for some guy to hook up with just so he can keep me fed." Rem nodded slowly, his expression showing that he didn't think her train of thought was half bad. "Well, gewd job," he commended. She answered, "Thanks. I've since stopped being one of the escorts. The brothel itself keeps me fed. I made a good investment." "I'll say," answered Rem, taking another long gulp right afterwards. "So, what do you do?" He paused, thinking things through before he let it come out, "Well," he paused. "I'm a Desert Ranger." Her eyebrows raised, "Oh, first time I ever actually see one of you guys."

Before the conversation continued any further, another woman sat down next to him. She looked to be in her late twenties at first glance, with black hair styled into a messy bun, and a heavy, black coat on that her hands were hidden in. "Did you say you're a Desert Ranger?" As she posed the question, there was a hint of desperation in her voice. Rem turned to her as Shawna hovered away imperceptibly, like any good bartender would. "Yes ma'am," he answered, able to see that she was likely looking for help. "Yew got somethin' troublin' yew?" As soon as he asked the question, the desperation in her face intensified, "Yes! I'm willing to pay, and - - " Rem cut her off, "Let's not worry about pay fer now, ma'am. Tell me wut yew need help wit'." The words stopped, and she took a long breath before beginning, "I don't know if you heard, but I found two of the armed escorts dead." The moment Rem heard that, he was certain that it was going to be Pat and Bruce. He didn't know why, but he was sure. "A few days ago, they also killed my brother and a friend of ours." The further she explained, the angrier she sounded. The more determined, too, and at the end of it, she spoke with an even graver tone than before. "I know where we can find the people who did this. I want them dead."

It didn't take Rem much thought process to figure it was a job that Emma wouldn't mind dealing with. After all, as Desert Rangers, that was the duty that they had each taken upon themselves by choice. "Let me talk to my boss about it, ma'am." Quickly, she said, "Vicky. My name's Vicky." Rem nodded his head once, "Vicky. I'll get back to yew." After standing, he paid Shawna and began heading off when he stopped and glanced back at Vicky, "Right quick. What did them escorts look like?" She looked up to him and recalled the details, "One man with a thick beard, and a woman with almost no hair." _Thought so_, Rem thought. "Awright. I'll get back to yew," he added, and headed off upstairs as Vicky watched him go with anticipation. For a second, Shawna laid eyes on her and she could tell that she was deeply wishing that she would get the help she wanted. "Drink?" Vicky turned and glanced at Shawna, "No, thanks." She offered up a lip smile and Shawna nodded, "Don't worry. It's silly if you think about it, but those Desert Rangers supposedly can't turn down a job like this. They help just about anyone." Vicky responded with a voice that trailed off slowly, "I sure hope so."

As the door to his room opened and Rem stepped in, Emma watched. Their eyes made contact for a brief second and he didn't need it to last any longer to be aware of the tension between them. He was determined to make it seem like nothing was wrong, however. "I found us a job, ma'am." Then, when he took a good long glance at her finally, he noticed something very different about her. She was holding an empty bottle of wine in her hand, and beside her, on a table top, there was an empty bottle of whiskey. The slow manner in which she responded afterwards made it clear as to what was going on here. "What's the job?" Rem paused, realizing that what happened between them last night was bothering her more than he thought it would. "Yer drunk," he said, flatly. She looked to one side and answered him with defiant silence for a while until the alcohol finally coerced her to come out with something. "About last night . . . " she began, while Rem held his hand up, "It's awright. I knew it wasn't gonna be nothin' serious."

Her eyes, half closed, stared at him and he saw a hint of sadness in them. In these whole ten months, he'd never seen her sad. "Yeah," she began, "Because I'm old." Rem felt guilty. "And I'm only getting older," she added. She took in a deep breath and exhaled while Rem couldn't figure out what to say. "Only getting more worthless." This time, he was flooded with things to say, "Yer not worthless. I've seen yew save lotsa people durin' the time I been wit' yew. Hell, yew've even saved my ass before, tew, an' I couldn't be more grateful." To Emma, his words carried so little weight behind them. She had always thought that one day she would feel accomplished and proud of herself, but no matter how much she did, no matter how many times she got shot and risked her life for others, she could never forget the way those children in Juniper looked at her before they died.

"That's like congratulating your rifle for shooting straight. It does as it was designed. Nothing spectacular." His eyebrows raised, "But ma'am, yer life is more valuable than any rifle. The rifle ain't riskin' nothin' by shootin'. But yew . . . yew put yer life at risk every time yew do yer duty." Those words still fell short of anything. "My life's not worth as much as you think," she said, pausing as she slowly opened her mouth to speak again, "I shouldn't be around." A seriatim of slow steps led him to the couch and after he seated, he leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs and glanced sideways at her. "Ma'am, yer worth all them lives yew've saved, an - - " she cut him off vehemently, "Want to know how worthless I am?" Rem paused, and she continued with more intensity, "I'm so worthless that when I break down like this and I need someone to be here for me, you're the best I can do. You hardly know me. Nobody knows me."

"So then tell me who yew are, ma'am." The moisture that had been piling up behind her eyelids overflowed, and she brought her hands up to the tears to wipe them away. "I can't," she retorted. "If you knew, you would think differently of me." It wasn't until those last words that she voiced to him that he fully recognized how fragile Emma really was. That whole mien that she always had about her made her appear bulletproof. She seemed so in control and so at peace with herself, and the idea that it was the utter contrary weighed heavily. Heavily enough to make him feel heavyhearted for her. "Ma'am, yew can tell me anythang yew want." This time, he spoke with more emotion. "If yew keep sufferin' it's 'cause yew don't talk. If yew wanna get through this feelin', yer gonna have to say somethin'." Immediately, she stood up out of the couch and, while she stumbled and swayed, began leaving.

As Rem watched her run away from the moment, moving further and further from him, he stood up and yelled across the room to her, "What's got yew feelin' so down on yerself? What did yew do wrong?" She dropped onto her knees, and while it had been the alcohol that had caused her to fall, it felt more appropriate for her to imagine that it was actually because her legs could no longer support the guilt she was carrying with her. "I'll tell you if you promise me something." Rem stood and began walking towards her, lured in by her proposition, "Anythang ma'am. I'll promise yew anythang." She let herself lower on the floor onto her thigh, keeping her knees bent and supporting herself on her hand. "Promise me that you won't be biased. Promise me that you'll do what you think is right. If you think I should be dead, then let it be like that."

Rem felt a tingling sensation in his chest, and then his mind raced. It dawned on him that she must have done something terrible. He answered her with silence at first but not leaving it at that, she forced his hand, "Promise me! Give me your word as a Desert Ranger! If you can't do this, then you're not fit to be one!" Her fervent voice left Rem terrified, and even though a slow creep of reluctancy poisoned him, he decided that he couldn't turn back now. "I . . . promise," he conceded. When those words reached her ears, she let her eyelids come to a slow close. "I was the person who returned to Juniper a year later." He put it together almost immediately. "I went back to Juniper and killed everyone. I killed mothers and fathers. I killed . . . children. All of the children, Rem. I killed them all, because I thought that they deserved the same mercy I gave my brother. I thought they deserved to be spared the anguish of living without their parents. Five children, Rem, all crying for their parents, some running at me with knives in their hands, tears in their eyes, and pain in their hearts. All dead moments later, with their small, emaciated bodies, with their young eyes . . . bereft of life. Because I was too angry to accept that killing them wouldn't have been what my brother would have wanted."

He stood there, petrified not only by the words she had spoken, but petrified also by the intimidating sense of conviction that slowly enveloped him. "I'm almost certain the adults had something to do with my brother's death . . . but the children . . . they were innocent. That much I'm sure of. And yet . . . they're dead, and the person who commited the crime is still breathing." While she was talking, a veritable maelstrom of both emotions and thoughts was raging within Rem. The uncomfortable sequence of that went from a painful understanding that she should pay for what she had done, followed by the biased reluctance to do it, which he had promised to forego. She left it at that for a while, but upon noticing that Rem wasn't taking action, she turned her body slowly around to lay eyes on him. She saw him staring at her with his eyes open, his eyebrows contorted to express despair, and it wasn't what she wanted to see. She wanted to see conviction, and it just wasn't there. "You promised," she reminded him.

Their eyes were connected for what felt like hours to Rem. He'd had more than enough time to know that the right thing to do was to pull his pistol out and shoot her. _Five children_, he thought. A year ago, during an outing with another Desert Ranger he remembered the conviction with which he had put a bullet in a man's head for killing one child. Just one, and Emma had murdered five of them. She turned away from him, facing forward as she continued, "If you're out to pass judgment, Rem, then you can't let me live just because we've been traveling for a while. It shouldn't work like that." Rem took a deep breath and she heard the sound of a gun being drawn out of its holster. In the silence that followed, she didn't need to look back to know that her head was in the sights of his 45. Then, she became scared for her life, and she hated herself because of it. "I'm such a coward . . . Rem," she said, turning around again to stare into the barrel of Rem's gun. A tear rolled down her cheek, "I'm scared to die. It's so pathetic." Her hand, which Rem had been so accustomed to seeing gripping a revolver with steadfast resolve, looked frail as it brushed the tear away from her face.

"If I were any good, I'd have the integrity to deny my desire to stay alive, whether it's basic human instinct or not," she shook her head. A gun shot clapped like thunder within the apartment, and Rem watched, writhing inwardly in pain, as she slowly slumped to the floor and her body settled into its resting place on the rug. Her eyes had closed all on their own, like she had just gone to sleep on a whim, and now that he looked upon her gentle facial features, his heart yelled at him that she didn't deserve it. That was all it took for him to know that he wasn't going to kill her.

"I've said all I needed to say. Make your decision." The imagination with which he had painted what she would have looked like in death had been so vivid, and the feelings that followed had been equally as compelling, that for Rem, it had been as if it had actually happened. The fear of regretting it like he did when he imagined it was enough to avert him. _No. This ain't right. _The gun slowly lowered and when she heard him holstering the pistol again, she closed her eyes slowly. "I need time, Emma," he said, with a low voice. "I can't kill yew here anyway." She exploded angrily, "Bullshit! You have a silencer for that thing! Come on!" She stood up sloppily, supporting herself on her hand and pacing in his direction. "Do it!" As she stood in front of him, he looked down into the intensity of her eyes. The sorrow in his were a stark contrast. "Come on! Have the balls!" Her hand reached out to his and yanked it towards her head, but keeping the gun in his hand. Rem's arm didn't fight the gesture at all. "If you have the balls to go around passing judgment, then pass judgment! Do it!"

Rem's index finger wavered over the trigger but eventually, he pulled the pistol away from her head and continued staring. "I need time, Emma. Yew can't expect me tew make a decision of whether someone lives or dies in a short amount o' time." This time, she slapped him across the face, hoping to evoke the conviction she was so desperate to see. "I've seen you choose to kill Raiders in less time! You're bullshitting! Now stop fucking around and pass judgment just like you always have!" It wasn't a second after she had asked him to pass judgment that she was suddenly pistol whipped. The impact was jarring enough to send the world around her into a spin, and she couldn't even make sense of anything aside from the fact that her body was tumbling to the ground. "Fer now, that'll do," Rem uttered, "Whether yew live or die, I'll decide later. Now sober up, 'cause if I kill yew, I want yew to be all there." His words rung in her head and as she lifted her head to look up at him, she gritted her teeth angrily, and Rem holstered his pistol, took his rifle, and began leaving.

"Fffffuck you! You fucking coward!" After Rem closed the door, he heard her yelling down the hallway. His face was hot, and so were his ears. He even felt like his head was empty, his steps light as if he was walking on the moon. When he reached somewhere he could take a seat, he did and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and setting each of his hands on the sides of his head. His eyes were stationary for the most part, but here and there, he'd tilt them in another direction as his thought process carried on. _I almost shot her, _he thought, as he remembered what it had looked like when he imagined it. _It would have been a mistake. _When he tried to summon up the reason why, he felt that her good deeds shouldn't be enough for the life of those children. Nothing should be enough, and yet, he didn't want to do it. _God damn it, what am I gonna do? _As he wondered, he started closing his eyes as one side of his head pulsed, like the stress of the situation was giving him an instant headache.

"Something wrong?" The voice yanked him from his rumination and he tilted his eyes up, finding Vicky's face staring down at him. Her lips were pressed together, her hands stuck in her coat like they hadn't moved since he first saw her, and her eyes expressed concern. "N- no, Vicky. It's just . . . " he shook his head as if to negate himself, and added, "Everythang's alright. Sometimes yew just need to sit down and think." His hands came up and rubbed along his face, eyelids closing down as he released a breath. At the apex of it, his eyes opened again and he was looking right at her. She turned to sit down next to him. "I'm sorry to rush . . . but did you talk to your friend?" The question was unsettling, but he knew it wasn't her fault. "We prolly ain't gonna do anythang about it until at least tomorrow, Vicky. Sorry." She answered with silence at first, and after a while, it was like she decided to forget it. "Alright. Thanks," she uttered, standing up abruptly and walking away.

At first, Rem didn't watch her go, electing to pay no attention to her exasperation, but when his eyes finally glanced up in the direction that she had walked, he stood up immediately and began jogging after her. He reached her when she was walking through the exit, "Hey! Vicky! What are yew doin'?" She turned around and stopped, "Going to go do it myself." Rem's body shifted and his feet settled, his body language alone expressing the fact that he disagreed. "Can't yew jest wait? One day ain't a long time." She answered fluidly, "I haven't been entirely honest with you. Sorry. They took something of mine. My brother was carrying it, and while my first goal is to make them pay, I'm hoping dearly to get there in time to find what I'm looking for. I've already wasted enough time trying to find people to help me, and each time it's only made it less likely for me to find it. So, I'm just going to cut my losses here and go try it myself. It's alright, don't worry," she encouraged, "I understand that we all have things to deal with. It just so happens that I can't wait any longer. It's not your fault."

Rem looked down as he weighed his options. He could go by himself, but knew it'd be a lot safer with Emma along. "Thanks for trying," Vicky said, turning around and walking. _It ain't like Emma's sher to tag along now that this happened, anyway. _"Wait, Vicky. I'll come wit' yew." He jogged up to her side and paced with her. She turned to glance at him, "Are you sure?" Rem nodded deeply, "Yes, I'm sher, Vicky. It won't take more than tew of us to deal wit' 'em anyway, I'm sher." She offered him a lip smile that he stopped to take notice of. She didn't seem to bare her teeth when she smiled, but there was something pleasant about it. Something charismatic about it. In return, he offered up a forced smile of his own.

"So, what are yew lookin' for there? What did yer brother have on him?" She took a pause to think about it and slowly began, "It's a long story. We worked as mercenaries." Rem's eyebrows raised, thinking about the fact that she didn't look, at all, like a mercenary. "We go lots of places because of it, and at one point, we got caught up with a big bounty. We put out a lot of resources in caps and food supplies to get our hands on an expensive item." He kept looking around at the buildings surrounding them, but made sure never to walk in the middle of any roads. "A nice sniper rifle, and I mean very nice. Mint condition, powerful, all that, and we know a guy who will pay up to eight thousand caps for it. I need to get it back, because otherwise, I won't just be an only child anymore. I'll also be broke." The comfort level with which she referenced her brother's death was telling of how tough she was. Perhaps that was one of the few indications that ascertained her status as a mercenary.

"I see. Well, I heard that one of them guards on the catwalks was killed by sniper rifle fire a while back, so if we're lucky, they been usin' that fancy toy they took from yer brother and they ain't got rid o' it yet." There was something off about his voice. He didn't sound the way he sounded when she first met him in the bar, so she was fully aware that there was something wrong. "Yeah," she responded, "Anyway, what happened with you and the Ranger? You've been different ever since you went and had a talk with her." The corners of Rem's lips dipped in disdain, "Somethin' I rather not think about at the moment. Ever hear the sayin' we'll cross that bridge when we get there?" She looked ahead again, "Oh, alright." When it was left alone, Rem seemingly became focused on the situation again, but in reality, he hadn't shaken the encounter with Emma. Sooner or later, he was going to have to do something about it, and he wasn't sure what that would be.

It took close to two hours to finally reach an area that Vicky pointed out belonging to the people they were looking for. "Awright," Rem began, pausing for a moment to assess. "We'll go in that building over there," he pointed. "From there, I'll see if I can get good shots at 'em. If we're lucky, they'll come to us, and we can make 'em pay fer it." Vicky turned to glance at him, a myriad of thoughts coursing through her mind before she agreed, "Alright." She started following him as he kept low, and eventually, the two of them entered the building through a window. She watched as Rem landed on the other side, very silently, and couldn't help but be impressed. "Awright, follow mah lead," he ordered. She followed closely, watching their backs as they moved along until finally, they entered a room on the third story and Rem picked out a window that faced the building they were here to raid. He jogged up to it and knelt down in front of it, "Perfect," he said. "I'll let yew know when tew protect our rears."

It didn't take long for him to see movement. There was a man in blue combat armor, and instantly, Rem knew who that had been taken from. "Tew bad it don't protect yer head," he whispered. Vicky was squatted behind him, glancing at his shot over his shoulder as he grasped the rifle assertively and began aligning the rifle sights. "Got all the time in the werld, Rem," he uttered, easing himself into things while Vicky continued watching. He couldn't see it, but the longer he spent aligning his shot, the more nervous she seemed to get. "Awright . . . " his finger began squeezing the trigger when something pressed up against the back of his head. "You're a real bastard, you know that?" Rem's eyebrows raised and he stopped, tilting his eyes back. "I didn't think you'd be this smart about it." He began turning his body around when Vicky quickly spoke, "Ah ah ah ah . . . don't. Throw the rifle aside slowly. Very slowly." Rem stopped moving, "Vicky, what the hell is this?" The gun pressed against him harder, "Throw it away. Now." He breathed out and did as she told him. "The pistol, too." He couldn't believe that this was happening, but right now, all he could do was comply. He tossed the thing aside and held his hands up.

"Turn around," she ordered, and he did. She had put some distance between them now, but kept the gun aligned with his head. "You thought you could get away with killing my dad and my little brother?" After she finished asking the question, Rem could see the satisfaction in her build up, causing her lips to spread and bare into a telling smile. Her teeth were sanded down into grisly triangles with sharp points, and now he knew why she had never shown him her teeth. The next thing he noticed was that her hand, which was holding a pistol to his head, was shaking subtly. Those were the shakes that were associated with Kuru, the spongiform disease that a person could contract from cannibalism, and he had never seen it because her hands had always been hidden in the pockets of her coat. "Yer a Jackal. Them cannibals we killed . . ." he said. She answered smugly, "That's right. Now walk." He didn't move for a while, trying to think about if whether or not he could do anything, but nothing. "Walk!" His lips pressed together and he followed orders, making his way towards the exit. Before he could round the corner, he was pistol whipped in the back of the head. He hit the floor as his eyesight gradually darkened, and then he lost his consciousness.

Upon waking, he immediately felt his upper body had been stripped of its bullet proof vest, and there were chains holding his hands tightly against the wall that his back was pressed against. "You're awake," he heard. Rem slowly turned his head to the source of the familiar voice and found Pat staring at him while she shivered. Her body was entirely naked. "Took you long enough." Her voice, somehow, was just as strong as it was when he first met her, even though after assessing the situation, the instinctual hunch that she had been raped manifested. He was glad to see her alive at first, but after knowing what she'd been through, he wasn't sure if he should be anymore. "How're yew holdin' up?" She answered fluidly, "Well, most of them are men. So . . . they fucked me. The only reason I'm still alive is because they probably plan on doing it again later." Rem was at an absolute loss as to how she was able to talk about this so casually. At least, he figured it was better than her being emotional about it. "They're cannibals," she commented. "They ate Bruce. Told me that since he was such a big and burly guy, it'd be a while before they did the same to me."

As soon as she was finished talking, the door was pushed open. It slammed against the wall behind it and Vicky came through along with a black man. His head was shaven bald, and as he opened his mouth to speak, Rem saw that his teeth weren't filed down to sharp points. He was a hired gun. "You ready for another go, baby?" Vicky skipped the man's question and focused her attention on Rem, "It's a shame you weren't able to get here with your friend, but it'll be alright. She'll join you soon, and when she does, we'll make a feast out of the both of you." While she spoke, the man paced up to Pat and struck her in the cheek with a hard right. Her body flicked to the side like a piece of paper caught in the wind, her consciousness struggling to stay in tact. Afterwards, he began freeing her from the wall and, with the chains that held her hands together held tightly in one of his, he lifted her onto her feet and began leading her away from the room. Rem's eyes narrowed, and when he turned to look back at Vicky, she was smirking. "Don't worry, she'll come back later. Mercenaries are expensive, so I did some negotiating and now, that bitch is saving me some caps." Again, she bared her teeth again in a wicked smile and began leaving, not bothering to close the door.

From where Rem was seated, he was able to see as Pat was set on the floor with her back against it . . . and raped. Multiple men took their chances and at one point in time, he was certain she was going to die. One of the men put a gun to her head and demanded oral sex, but much to his surprise, she complied. He half expected her to bite but she didn't, and that was when he realized that she was one of the strongest people he had ever met in the wasteland. Even though she was in such dire straits, it was so clear, so easy to see, that she was holding on to the hope that maybe, just maybe, she might survive. When she was finally tied back onto the wall next to him, with bruises on her face and on her body, Rem turned away and looked ahead. In the silence, he could hear her breathing. "We'll get outta this Pat," he assured, "And when we do, we'll make 'em pay." Pat let her head rest on the wall behind her and she answered, "You don't have to tell me. I know." Even though she was resolute, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. "You're lucky that none of 'em look like they'll fuck a guy in the ass." He didn't think lightly enough of her situation to genuinely be enthusiastic about humoring her, but after a while, he concluded that if he did, it might help her cope. "Well, bein' so purty, one of 'em might mistake me fer a girl."

Pat laughed, her eyelids lazy, and he wondered if she was as alright as she was making it look.


	13. Desperation

**Note: **You guys will realize that the writing style will have changed somewhat in this chapter. Dialogue will be separated to keep from having clusters of paragraphs throughout the whole thing. This is to hopefully achieve a cleaner appearance, and an overall easier reading experience. Please comment on that when you're finished reading the chapter. I'd appreciate it.

**Mojave Wasteland**

**August 22nd 6:23 AM **

**2267**

With enough time gone by, the haze of inebriation had begun to dissipate. So when Emma's eyes opened gently, and she started the arduous process of remembering yesterday's occurrences, she felt ashamed and, most of all, scared. Her eyes softened in regret, thinking about how she had always thought that since she had a lot of time to think about this, she would be ready to face it. Lo and behold, she was not.

_Being ready for this was only ever a pipe dream_, she thought.

Afterwards, she lifted her eyes and dragged them about the room, passively noting that Rem wasn't there before she aligned them with the ground again, where she had slept. She had no idea what would happen now. Would she sit here and wait for Rem? Or . . . would she get up right now and run away from him? The second prospect sounded shamefully appealing, but she digressed, letting her fingers find their ways to the floor, which had been warmed by her body, and traced unintelligible designs on it.

_I shouldn't run away. I won't. _

It wasn't some desire to do what was right that kept her bound to the floor then. It was fatigue. A growing sense of self hatred that she could no longer support, which would only be fueled even further by running away. This had to end, and that was when she turned her head to look at her revolver. She drew in a deep breath and stood up moments before pacing on towards it, ignoring the cold ground against her bare feet. When her fingers wrapped snugly around the handle of the weapon, she stared at it, thinking about how quick of a sequence it would be to just point it at her head and pull the trigger.

_I should just do it. Wouldn't take too long. Just one burst of emotion to put it to my head and squeeze. Then . . . Rem finds me, probably buries me, and I'm done with everything. _

She was surprised that she was able to remember the way he looked last night when she explained herself. His face had gone almost stiff, stuck in one expression of surprise, of fierce discombobulation on what to think. It was as though his mind was made out of water, and a rock had been thrown into it, because he was in ripples.

_Maybe . . . maybe it's not fair to put this on him. _

For once, she felt a minute sense of satisfaction with herself because she wasn't forming an opinion based on saving her skin. She genuinely felt that it wasn't fair to Rem. He may have had a grown up job, may have killed many men and women in the name of justice, but he was still just a kid. There was still a lot of growing up to do on his part. Growing up that would make a decision to kill his teacher much easier to carry around on his shoulders. He didn't need something like that holding him down just because she couldn't handle her own problems.

_So who? _

The gun became the center of attention again, especially as her thumb reached to the hammer and cocked it backwards. The click that resulted from the motion pumped her full of dread. Her eyes closed and she released a breath of frustration eventually, loosening her grip on the revolver and letting it tilt down until it was hanging uselessly from her index finger. Subsequently, it was allowed to drop onto the table it had been resting on before she picked it up, and she turned away, ashamed of herself. Then, she thought of something she had never even fathomed before.

_I can turn myself in to Ranger Center. _

Her eyes opened just a tad wider, surprised with how . . . great . . . she felt about the idea. It would save her the grief of shooting herself, which, for some reason, she could never do. It would also take Rem off the hook, and make her punishment fair because it would be given unto her by people who didn't know her closely. Suddenly, the certainty of death didn't weigh so heavily.

_That'll have to do,_ she concluded, before crossing her arms under her breasts, thoughtful.

It wasn't until noon had rolled around that she had gotten tired of waiting for Rem there. Maybe he was avoiding her entirely because of what had happened last night. She thought that her decision to turn herself in to the higher ups at the center, however, should change that, and the first place she decided to look was the bar. As she stepped in, Shawna's eyes swiveled and found her, unable to recognize her.

"Haven't seen you around," she commented as Emma stepped up to the counter without leaning up on it or anything.

To Shawna, the way Emma approached made it more than easy to tell that she wasn't here for drinks.

"How can I help you?"

"Blonde hair, blue eyes, brown blazer, late teens. Does that ring a Bell?"

That moment, Shawna recognized who he was talking to, just from the straight-to-the-point manner in which Emma spoke. She was the Desert Ranger Rem had arrived here with. Suddenly, she felt a little playful.

"It rings a whole symphony of bells, actually," she answered, with more enthusiasm than perhaps necessary.

Emma picked up on the subtle social maneuver but wasn't really in the mood to entertain it. That being the case, she continued on about her business, ignoring Shawna's pointless subtleties.

"Any idea where he is?"

Shawna began wiping down her counter as she answered, without looking at her visitor.

"I saw him go off with a girl."

There was silence afterwards, silence where Emma awaited clarification and where Shawna waited for a sign of jealousy to conclude if whether or not she and Rem had more than a teacher student relationship. When nothing came, Emma lost patience and slowly leaned in finally, resting her hands on the edges of the bar counter.

"Listen, I'm not some girl here to investigate what her boyfriend's activities were while she was too drunk to mind him. I have some important things to talk to him about. Can you help me find him or not?"

Shawna got done wiping the counter down and aligned her eyes with Emma's now, inwardly disappointed. Still, she answered.

"Like I said, he went off with a girl. Wasn't one of the prostitutes. She said she had a job for the two of you, and he said he would tell you about it."

As she explained, Emma vaguely remembered a few of Rem's words before things caught fire the night before. He had definitely mentioned having found a job for the two of them.

"I guess he went off without you."

Emma ruminated while her body remained solid, almost statuesque.

"He looks like he can handle himself but if you want to take a shot at finding him, you might wanna ask one of the catwalk guards. They see everyone leave, and can tell you which way they went."

"Thanks. I'll come by and get some drinks sometime."

Sternly, she turned around and began making her way towards the door.

_Idiot,_ she thought, before contradicting herself on a moment's notice, _Then again, I guess I can't blame him. I'll leave him to it if he wants to act reckless. _

Upon reaching the door, she experienced a complete one hundred and eighty degree turn in perspective. Her body did, too. Shawna's head tilted up to glance at Emma standing in her doorway, looking her way now, and could sense that another question was forthcoming.

"Remember what she looked like? Hair? Height? Clothes?"

"Late twenties, brown hair," then, she reverted back to her mischievous ways, "Pretty thing. Looked cold, very cold, like she needed more than that big, cumbersome coat she was wearing to get nice and warm. Oh and . . . her name was Vicky."

Emma entertained what this scene may have looked like if she and Rem actually had been together. She pictured herself punching Shawna right in the nose for having such a jolly time saying that her significant other might be in bed on top of another woman as they speak.

"Thanks," was her only response before turning around and leaving.

"Any time," Shawna answered, smugly.

As she paced up the less than sturdy aluminum staircase leading up to the catwalks, where guards monitored the perimeter around the clock, she watched two of them joke around casually. One pushed the other and teased him about only ever picking one girl at Shawna's brothel.

"You aren't falling in love with that Betty-for-hire are you?"

"Fuck you," the other answered, turning his head to Emma as she approached. "Hello. What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a kid. Late teens, blonde hair, blue eyes, brown blazer, repeater. That ring a bell?"

"Yeah, I remember him," the black haired guard in his mid twenties answered. His friend gradually sunk into the background, watching the perimeter casually while his partner spoke with the visitor.

"He went northwest with this girl. They kept going in that direction until we couldn't see 'em anymore. It's been a while though, so they might have branched away once they were out of our scope. Is there a problem?"

Emma answered dryly, "If I'm lucky, no, and I usually lose all my bets. Thanks for the information."

As she walked past him, she pressed a jingling bag into his stomach. He reached down with both hands and caught it, following her over his shoulder with his gaze as he spoke, "Hey, no charge."

"It's a good thing you guys do. That's just something to encourage you to keep doing it."

Suddenly, he felt something slapping his shoulder forward from behind before he could even answer. As he turned to see, he saw his partner.

"Hell, I'll take it if you don't want it, Rick."

"Chyeah . . . right," he answered, stashing the bag and going on about his business.

As she entered the apartment and made her way straight to her armor, she thought about how reckless Rem could be. One of the things that came to mind was when he chased that Crimson Tongue into an area where visibility was low back in Utah when he should have waited for her to arrive. Her helmet provides low-light vision, and would have made it safer. Another was when he opened up that refrigerator where the cannibals lived and nearly ingested some of the food there.

_Dumb ass. You're going to get yourself killed. _

Though she was angry for the most part, she couldn't help but feel some sense of worry creeping in. Rem was a good kid, out to help as much as he could, and he had grown on her. She thought that he would be a model Desert Ranger, and it would be tragic if he died. Not only would it be tragic, but she could foresee a month long drinking spree ahead of her, likely followed by suicide if it happened.

After the helmet settled atop her head with a hollow click, she reached forward and took the sniper rifle into her hands firmly. Then, she turned around and made her way out. Not just from her apartment, but from the town as well.

"Hey, there she goes," said Rick, looking at the back of a Desert Ranger as she walked northwest.

"Who?"

"That Ranger's going northwest, so that must be that woman who came by asking where that kid had gone off to."

"Oh, you're right. Never met one of them until now."

"Yeah, they're around. This is the third one I meet. They're survivalists. Give one an empty bottle of turpentine with a stick in it and they'll be serving brahmin steak by dinner time."

Both guards stood at the rails and watched her slowly become more and more distant until they could no longer see her.

Meanwhile, Rem sat in his concrete cage, bound by links of steel, now mirroring the beating that Pat had taken. His left eye was swollen shut, his upper lip was split open, and there were bruises all along his upper body. Each time he looked at his company, however, he couldn't stop himself from being astonished that there was still so much life left in her eyes, even after being raped and beaten to the point of blacking out more than once.

"We need tew start doin' somethin', Pat," he called out after an hour of silence.

She turned her head to glance at him, pressing her lips together before shifting her hands against the shackles.

"They're too tight. Are yours loose?"

Rem performed the same test and answered by shaking his head, releasing a breath of disappointment. That resulted in Pat gritting her teeth and grunting angrily.

"There's gotta be something we can do."

"I think there is," he answered, and Pat detected the regret in his voice.

"What? Spit it out."

He took some time to think about it. The idea of going through with what he was thinking didn't exactly settle lightly.

"I think if I dislocate mah thumb, I can get out of it."

Even Pat couldn't help but cringe at the idea of dislocating her own thumb to get out of the shackles. Foremost, she was skeptical, however.

"You sure that'll work?"

Rem wasn't moving as much anymore. He was seated calmly, looking straight forward with a steady breath, and then his eyelids came closing down over his eyes as he breathed out. He wasn't actually certain, so he knew that he might dislocate his thumb and end up still being unable to escape.

"It feels like . . . maybeh or maybeh not."

"Yes or no?" Pat wasn't the patient type.

"Shit, I don't know, Pat. What do yew want from me?"

The shackles felt like they were shut fairly tightly around his wrist with very little slack to give, but if he was lucky, that small space that it allowed would be enough to get a hand out.

"It would take some luck. That's all I can say about it."

Silence ensued and Pat just stared at him as he sat there, breathing calmly. Then, it abruptly hit her.

"Shit, you're actually thinking about it."

He didn't wait long before answering, "If they git Emma all the way out here, yew might be dead by then, Pat. We have less time than yew think. We gotta do somethin' now, an' if I hafta dislocate my thumb, then damn straight I'm gonna do it."

Pat had been told about the Desert Rangers before. They were supposed to be a bunch of soldiers trained to brave the woes of the desert, but more than that, they were supposed to be dedicated to helping whoever they could by either teaching basic survival skills, by teaching how to maintain weaponry and to shoot straight with them, and even to go in and risk their necks in person for the sake of keeping innocents safe. They were made out to be a group of selfless people who could be trusted, and should be respected as a force for good. She had always looked at them with skepticism, however, until now.

"I just need a little bit o' time, here, Pat. I can't go screamin' like a sissy when I do it. They'll come tah see what all the commotion's about."

He took in a deep breath as Pat settled into where she was seated again. Behind her, she placed her thumb flat against the floor and imagined what it would be like to press hard enough to snap it out of the joint, and then pull against the shackle to see if her hand would come through. She cringed, and didn't stop staring at Rem. She could tell that he was probably imagining the pain, too. Would he really do it? In her periphery, she found movement, and turned to see what it was. Behind him, he was holding his left thumb firmly within his right hand. She almost tried to help him by telling him not to think about it so much but stopped when it felt like she wasn't in any position.

"Awright . . . " he took in a deep breath and released it, "I hafta do this. What's a dislocated thumb tah savin' someone's life, right?"

WIth his thumb firmly in his grasp, he gently pushed it against its threshold and got a small sample size of the pain he would encounter upon doing it. It was absolutely debilitating to think about, so much that he wondered if he really could stay quiet about it.

_I have tew. If I scream, they'll find out, and I'll have done this fer nothin. _

He clenched his eyes tightly and began gritting his teeth. He began pushing his thumb the wrong way, but he knew he had to do it in one firm, assertive motion, not slowly.

"Fuck."

Pat's eyes went small when she saw him do it. She was able to hear the crack, and watched as Rem's whole body went tense. She could see the pain in his face, and could see that he was fighting as hard as he could to not make a sound.

For Rem, it was the nastiest, most intense pain he had ever encountered in his life, worse than being stabbed in the arm by the Crimson Tongue. His breath picked up and his legs shifted abruptly as he tried to find a good way to channel the pain without grunting or screaming. As a result, his face reddened and he pressed his back firmly against the wall behind him and hit his head on it, too, and continued clenching his mouth tightly.

"Aaagh . . . damn . . . " he finally whispered, eyes tearing up. Then, he stopped and let his chin dip, closing his eyes while he tried to manage himself.

The whole time, Pat was caught up watching him writhe, and it wasn't until he spent a good while with his chin tilted down that she wondered if it had worked.

"Y . . . you alright?"

Rem seemingly awoke again, breathing out softly, and didn't answer. Then, he jerked his body in pain and couldn't stop himself from grunting this time. "Uhrrrrr . . . " he sounded, trailing off and settling down again with heavy breaths.

"What's wrong?"

"It's gonna hurt tryin' tah squeeze my hand through. I need a moment." His voice was bristling with the pain he was enduring. To help cope with it, he clenched his eyelids again.

"Shit, this hurts like hell, Pat," he whispered to her. "And it still ain't gonna be easy tryin' tah get my hand out."

After a while, he opened his eyes again and moved them in her direction. She looked concerned, and quiet, but he understood the fact that she didn't have anything to say. What can she say?

"Awright," he breathed out, and then, he began attempting to pull his hand out. The moment he did, his face tensed and his teeth pressed together. He almost grunted, but instead, he heavily contorted his face to help himself endure. The pain shot up his entire arm but he fought it as the fearsome understanding that this may not actually have helped infected him.

"Come on," he urged, face reddening.

Pat found herself in fervent anticipation.

"Come on, Rem, you can do it."

He continued pulling and then suddenly, his left arm jerked and his body went lax. It looked like he had gotten it out. Her eyes lit up with hope.

"You got it out?"

Rem leaned back against the wall and shook his head, "It didn't werk, Pat. No way I'm gettin' my hand outta this damn shackle."

Her heart sunk.

While his chest lifted and dropped, he slowly turned his eyes towards one of the windows in the room and glanced out into the town. It seemed foreboding now that he was starting to believe that he might actually die here.

By then, Emma had been traveling northwest for two hours now, and had already started to wonder if this was pointless. There were one hundred directions in which they could have branched out at this point, and she may have been wasting her time here. Hell, Rem might have even been on his way back to Eastside by now. What if he got there and she wasn't there? He may think that she had run away. She cursed herself for not leaving a note behind with the guards. It would have made her feel more comfortable.

The next half hour went by just as slowly as the previous two hours had. She walked close to the decrepit buildings to avoid being caught in the open, looking around at the cracked asphalt roads, fallen street lights and Nuka Cola advertisements looking for something that may indicate that someone had gone in this direction recently. Nothing. Just continuously nothing.

Eventually, her steps led her to the remnants of an ancient vehicle accident. Something that had probably happened during the great panic in 2077. There were a few cars turned in telling directions in the middle of the road and one was atop the sidewalk she was on. The doors were open on some of them, others had broken windows, but all of them had empty glove boxes and trunks that had been pried open somehow. Very rarely was there a car that had supplies in it anymore.

She stopped when she reached the car and leaned back, leaning against the vehicle's right fender and stared straight forward, thinking a lot more than actually looking around anymore.

_I guess I'm going to have to go back, _she thought, turning her head to idly glance at the streets.

"Excuse me?"

The voice tore her away from her deep rumination and she turned around very quickly, aligning the barrel with a man's face. He looked to be in his late thirties, with short, black hair and a pair of dark eyes.

"Woah, woah! Take it easy!"

As he yelled for her to calm down, he held his hands up in innocence and even placed them behind his head.

"Look, no threat. No threat."

Emma digressed and lowered her weapon, "Where the hell did you come from?"

After it was made clear that he didn't have to worry about being under suspicion anymore, his hands lowered and slipped into the pockets of his jacket, and when he responded, he did so very calmly and clearly.

"I've been following you for about an hour now. You're headed northwest. I am, too, and I get the feeling you know why."

After the explanation, she eased up, letting her sniper rifle lower as she answered, "I don't, actually." She didn't make it apparent, but she was disappointed to see that she had been so easily followed without her noticing. Maybe she had been thinking about the ifs too much.

"So you're not after that mercenary raider company? They've been causing trouble all throughout Pahrump for a while now. Lots of people want them dead, including that settlement out east."

"And you?"

"I guess I want them gone, too. They have something of mine. I want it back. I thought you might be one of them at first, but I doubted it because of your armor. Still, it isn't like Desert Rangers can't be killed and have their armor stolen from them, right?"

"Right."

He smiled, but didn't show his teeth.

Emma settled against the car again, watching him while she put two and two together. It was likely that Rem had come in this direction looking after the exact same people. This guy, seemingly, could be her ticket to finding him.

"Any idea where they are?"

"So you are headed there," he answered. Emma answered with silence, but that was all the man needed to see to know that he had gotten it right.

"Further northwest. I can lead you there. I figure we have more chances of getting out alive if we work together."

"Let's go," she answered, and leaned off the car.

"It's another hour away from here."

"So, you've been there before?"

Once he was walking, Emma paced up to his side, "Yeah. I hired two mercenaries about a month ago, and we hit them an hour after midnight. We got a few of them but they got two of us, and with just me still alive, I laid low. I wasn't going to win by myself. When things cooled down, I left. But, I see you have a sniper rifle. That changes things."

"It sure does," she answered, turning to face ahead again.

He drew in a deep breath and after releasing it, his body shivered perceptibly, and then stopped suddenly. The two of them continued walking along, Emma's eyes ever watchful of their surroundings.

"I'm Jason. You?"

Emma answered with a slow, irritated tone, "Let's not talk so much. Makes it harder to hear things."

"Alright," he answered.

Emma began pacing slower than Jason after a while, falling back to take a good look at things, figuring that they should be starting to notice certain debris. When people lived in a general area, it was likely that there would be food leftovers. Sometimes, there could even be lingering scents of stool and piss, or even bullet casings. Every now and then, Jason would turn around and glance at her, watching her work.

"Hey, maybe you should lead. You're the one with the sniper rifle."

Emma knelt down and picked up a rock from the floor, and then tossed it aside as she calmly let her voice flow from her mouth, "It's fine. You followed me for an hour, and you had to have kept a good distance from me to go on unnoticed for that long. You've got good eyes. Besides, you know where they are and I don't."

He turned ahead and pressed his lips together nervously, his eyes moving from one area in front of him to the other.

"What's their base like?"

His eyes lowered, as if he was pushing something else away from his mind before answering, "Three story building. A few of the walls are open now. Perfect for a sniper. It's got this big sign close to it that reads Jackson Law Offices. Can't miss it."

"I see. Let me know before we're too close. I want to find a good vantage point."

"Alright. We're pretty close now, actually. With the range on that thing, you can probably start picking them off from one of the buildings here."

Emma paced up towards him now that it had been made clear that they were close.

"Any idea which one of these buildings I should use?"

Jason raised an eyebrow, "You're the sniper. You pick." He didn't stop himself from looking around at the buildings, however, just as Emma came to a stop close behind him. There was a pause. Presumably, she was looking for one.

"So, was that girl that Rem left with a cannibal, too?"

Instantly, he drew his revolver and jerked around, but it was only just in time for Emma's sniper rifle to crack against his face. The world seemed to spin as he turned and fell on his stomach. Emma dropped her rifle and leaned in towards him, reaching his chin while her other hand grasped his head. In one swift, assertive motion, she snapped his neck and let the lifeless Jason's head thud against the concrete.

It had taken her a while, but with a long trek and more than enough time to consider everything, she had made the connection between this fellow and Vicky. The two of them had been wearing these cumbersome jackets, and he kept his hands in the pockets at all times, like he was cold. That, of course, wasn't enough to fully convince her. Then she put together that both Vicky and Jason, which bore a striking resemblance, in terms of mannerisms, were somehow trying to get the two of them to follow them northwest. That made it far less coincidental than she first imagined all of this might be.

The next thing she wondered was why anybody would want her and Rem dead. _Maybe it's a thing against Desert Rangers, _she remembered imagining, and then it hit her. She and Rem had killed two cannibals close to Pahrump. She remembered looking straight at Jason's hands when she remembered that, and upon seeing that they were tucked ever so snugly in their corresponding pockets where they couldn't be seen shaking, she knew what was going on. From there, all it took was asking him a very imposing question to ascertain it. He responded with aggression, and now that he was dead on the floor because of it, he had proved her theories without even knowing it.

In silence, she turned to look at a dumpster and then looked right back at Jason before bending down and grabbing each of his ankles. She dragged the dead weight along the unforgiving concrete until she reached her destination. With Jason lying lifeless on the ground behind her, she paced towards the dumpster and lifted one of the lids. The moment she did, she heard buzzing, and peered inside. There was a male raider corpse in there, two weeks along, rotting in a dreadful loneliness that Emma was happy to remedy. Upon tossing Jason inside and closing the lid, she inwardly thanked her helmet for sparing her the scent, and went back to her rifle.

_Okay, so we must be close,_ she thought.

Subsequently, she pointed the barrel of her rifle straight at the clean blue sky and fired a shot. Then another, and the sound of the bullet echoed through the city, reverberating between the buildings and within rooms until it reached the ears of a woman named Vicky. At the time, she was in her withered office, which had been turned into a withered bedroom, seated on a chair. Her attention turned to the window after she heard the gunshot and once it stopped, she stood and began making her way towards the door, her eyes sharp.

Upon opening the door, she saw one of her hired mercenaries sitting there, unmoving, but glancing at her.

"What are you waiting for? Go see what that was. Might be Jason."

"On it," he answered, standing up and heading off.

She shook her head as she watched him leave, and then turned around, closing the door as she disappeared into her room again.

"Did you hear that?"

As Pat asked the question, the two of them were looking straight out the window. Rem's lips slowly widened into a smile, and he answered, "Yeah, I heard it, Pat. I've heard it many times before, tew. It's Emma's rifle."


	14. Rescue

**Mojave Wasteland **

**August 22nd 4:21 pm **

**2267**

"It couldn't have been any further than this," Claylon commented. Claylon was the black man with a shaven head who had given Pat a lot of trouble back at Vicky's encampment, and was also the one who was in charge of the mercenary troupe.

"But there are no dead bodies, sir," responded Vladimir, his only company.

"I see that, kid. I'm guessing someone fired those two shots but didn't kill anything."

As he stood around, looking for signs of a struggle, he eventually gave up and turned back in the direction of their camp. "Come on, Vlad, we're going back. There's nothing here."

Emma had seen Claylon and Vladimir about twenty minutes before she saw them walking back down the same street she had killed Jason on. They hadn't found a thing, just like she had planned. Now they were on their way back home, and would unknowingly lead the Desert Ranger there.

She descended from her vantage point with all of the caution required and exited the establishment without a sound. Afterwards, she began walking in the same direction of her unofficial guides, following their movements and disappearing behind some post-war city debris when it was necessary. From there, it didn't take long for her to finally arrive. They each disappeared into a three story building and when she took a look at the big sign reading Jackson Law Offices, having heard it from Jason before made it feel as though this wasn't the first time she laid eyes on it.

The first thing she wondered upon arrival was what had happened. Was Rem dead already? The possibility of that worried her.

_I'll see about getting a better look, _she thought before she turned and began looking to acquire a vantage point from which she could really take a good look at what was going on inside. In the end, it turned out that there wasn't just one suitable vantage point. There was, however, a good network of them that she ended up using that eventually gave her an idea of how many men she was dealing with, and how well they were equipped.

_Eleven total, four with combat armor, others with more primitive armor. Some with none. Weapons range from submachine guns, shotguns and rifles. Nothing long-range, from what I can see so far. Very open base of operations. It'd take around twenty men to keep it locked down tight, and they don't have that many on active duty. _

The more she looked around, the more worried she became.

_Rem has not been located. _

She dragged the scope along the building for nearly a half an hour and had almost given up on it when she finally saw movement through a window she had perused many times before. First she saw a bare leg outstretching. From what she could tell, the person it belonged to may have been naked, and then her hunch was ascertained when the woman shifted and revealed her face and her upper body. Emma instantly recognized her as the armed escort that had guided her and Rem to Eastside the day before.

_They have prisoners. Maybe they captured Rem, too. _

As she inwardly asked herself, she kept looking. The best she got for a while from keeping an eye on Pat was a moment during which she spoke to someone else who was in there with her. Her lips were moving, and her eyes were turned in a certain direction, but there was no way of telling if whether or not it was Rem that she was talking to. At least not until he shifted and stuck one of his legs out the same way Pat had. She dragged the scope to see the boot and the color of the jeans. That was more than enough for her to know it was him, and a wave of relief swept her over.

_I wonder why they've kept him a hostage so long. _

She paused briefly to think it over.

_Probably wanted to get me here, too. Why are they keeping - - _

She cut herself off after quickly coming to an understanding about why Pat was still alive. She was familiar with the way the wasteland typically treated women, even though she had witnessed her fair share of men being raped by captives as well. It was a disgusting thing to see, second only to torture, in her opinion at least, and she hoped Rem hadn't gone through it.

_How should I go on about this? I can start firing. I doubt they'll know I'm here for Rem. Or will they? With Jason out there, they might have had this all planned out. They might be expecting something that's related to Rem to happen. _

Her eye retreated from the scope and then she breathed out, reluctantly concluding that her safest bet would be to get in there in person and hopefully even escape before being noticed. The problem with that was that he was on the second floor, and that alone made it very, very difficult, no matter how big the place was. It would take luck, which she was so thoroughly and genuinely convinced she had none of.

_If I'd have known the situation was this dire, I might have asked one of the guards back in Eastside if he could come with me. It's too late now. Can't go back either. He might be dead by the time I arrive with help. Damn it. I wish this were the other way around. Rem would be able to get in there and rescue me with no problem. Could steal everyone's panties while he was at it. _

No matter how long she thought about it, she couldn't come up with any plan at all that seemed to make more sense than getting in there and freeing him in person.

_Wait a minute, _she thought.

_Fuck. How am I going to break the chain without making any noise? God damn it. What the hell am I supposed to do? _

Before long, her experience as a Desert Ranger chimed in as though it had a voice. Except it sounded just like her.

_Sometimes, when it's absolutely, positively impossible to have a promising plan of action all you can do is your very best. Do that, and you can't be vilified for whatever happens. _

She almost made herself feel easier. Almost being the key word.

_Alright, it's time I did something. _

After crawling backwards and rising from her location, she moved away. A few minutes later, she was approaching a window very carefully, and once she ascertained it was relatively safe, she lifted her rifle and looked through the scope, finding Pat and Rem's room. From where she was, she could only really get something of a glimpse of Pat, but it wasn't exactly what she was looking for.

_Damn it. I can't see the chain. _

Again, she removed her eye from the scope and began thinking again. Then it suddenly hit her, and she turned around to glance around the room. She dragged her gaze along the tattered landscape of an office setting until she found what she was looking for. A broken computer monitor with a pile of glass shards beneath it.

_There, _she thought.

Upon returning, she stood next to the window and held a shard of glass up, noting how lucky she was that the sun was in a position to provide the light she needed for this.

Rem was having an easier time coping with the pain in his left hand now that he had heard Emma's rifle. Perhaps it was the excitement, or the adrenaline, that was pumping through him now that he knew he should be expecting some kind of rescue. He had absolutely no clue at all as to how she would go on about it, but he knew how difficult this might turn out to be. That was when he saw it. There was an odd, silver sheen reflecting against one of the walls in the room, moving up and down in an attempt to get his attention. His eyes lit up and he glanced up at it with more focus, and smiled. Pat's head slowly lifted, her attention drawn by the expression on Rem's face, and then turned to look in the direction he was staring.

When she saw it, her eyes widened to express her surprise.

"It's her. I knew it," Rem whispered.

"What does she want us to do?"

Rem paused, thinking about it.

"I'm not sure," he answered.

The two of them stared at the light for a while until Rem spoke out, "Try and see where it's being reflected from."

Pat nodded her head and began crawling away from where she was, leaning and stretching out as far as she could, pulling the chain taut until she could go no further.

"See anythang?"

Before Pat could even answer, Emma's rifle spat out a round. Pat's shoulders jumped but Rem never faltered because he had long become used to Emma's rifle fire. Because of it, he was the first to see when the chain that once kept Pat stuck to the wall hit the floor after one of its links had been broken. Pat herself felt the constraint loosening before her eyes opened, and when she saw it, she was excited. It didn't last long, however, because she quickly figured out that everyone in the building would have heard the shot.

"Look alive!"

Rem, Pat and Emma all heard the voice carry the message through the air. The shot sounded much, much closer than the first two rounds she fired to lure them out, so it was no surprise that they knew something was up.

Emma focused.

Pat lowered and immediately began attempting to bring her hands to her front.

"Go check on the prisoners!"

Rem recognized that this last command had come from Vicky herself.

"On it!"

Then, the door to their room began to open.

"Fuck," Pat cursed, her attempt to escape becoming more and more desperate until it was too late.

She stopped trying when one of the mercs was standing in the doorway, drawing a gun. Another shot resounded from Emma's rifle. Pat watched as a fleeting streak of blood erupted from the man's head and caused the rest of his body to go limp and hit the floor.

_Damn it, hurry the hell up and get his gun, _Emma thought.

Pat froze for a single moment to think about how she wasn't dead, and then to think about how lucky she was right now that only one mercenary had come in. It wasn't until afterwards that she began trying again, and this time with more success.

"Git dat damn gun, Pat," Rem encouraged, just as she rushed forth and reached for it. It was almost unreal when she felt the pistol grip's texture inside her palm.

"Hey!"

Pat whipped the gun in the direction of the voice so fast that her assailant didn't even have time to fire. She squeezed the trigger with the deepest enthusiasm once, and then again, and watched the man hit the floor after being shot twice in the chest. She retreated immediately, slamming the door to their room and backing away from it.

"Now what?"

"Git me the hell outta here!"

At that point, Emma allowed herself to become occupied with other targets. She dragged the scope away from the room that Rem was inside of and began searching. One of the men who was wearing combat armor was streaking through the building, and when she saw that there was an open space a few feet ahead of him, she compensated for his troublesome foot speed by moving the scope in that direction and simply waiting for him to run right through her cross hairs. Bang, everyone heard, and another merc hit the floor with a pair of lifeless eyes.

"I don't think I can just shoot you out of there."

"Try shootin' them screws on da wall. That lil plate der that the chain's attached to looks like it might break."

The next shot that Emma fired missed. She released a breath of frustration after her target ran into cover just in time to avoid being shot, and then suddenly, she felt the all too familiar sense of assault rifle fire on her position. One of the rounds glanced the cheek of her armor and ultimately bounced off while another struck her shoulder, piercing through the leather jacket but only embedding itself into the black armor underneath. Before any more of it could come, she removed herself from the window and hid, gritting her teeth at the pressure of the bullet. It still hurt, to some extent.

Beneath, Claylon sneered, muttering something unintelligible before he called out, "You, you, with me!"

Emma didn't have to hear a clearer statement to understand that the man who had just shot at her was gathering two men to go into her building. Regardless, there was time for now. She emerged from where she was and aimed straight out the same window and continued attempting to pick more of the mercenaries off before it was time to leave. Some of them were still trying to find her.

Rem turned his body away from the angle that Pat fired. She pulled the trigger three times before the plates that were screwed into the walls broke.

"Awright! Now hide somewhere, ya hear? They'll think we escaped. They won't look fer yew."

"What are you going to do?"

"I counted eleven of 'em. She'll be needin' some help 'gainst them kinda odds."

She watched him pull the same maneuver of slipping his hands underneath his feet to bring them to his front, and afterwards, she watched him jog towards the door and, after looking from one side to the next, left.

Once he was gone, she looked around and tried her best to find a good place to hide. In the end, the best she could do was a desk. The moment she slid beneath it, the door swung open and slammed against the wall. A pause ensued, and then an exasperated yell, "They're gone! The prisoners are gone!"

"Find them!"

After hearing Vicky again in such close proximity, Pat developed the urge to pop out and shoot her, but as tempting as the impulse was, she knew it was wiser to stay put. Vicky's time would come. Her and one of her mercenaries in particular.

Claylon was making his way up the steps of the building and it wasn't until he heard another shot from Emma's rifle that he realized that she was still here, picking his men off. He doubted that the sniper had stayed in the same place where he'd seen him, and the understanding that he was going to have to comb through the floors to find him was irritating.

"Hold up," he eventually called, voice rumbling deeply as he entered the first floor. He picked the first door, which led to a room that faced Jackson Law offices, and kicked the door down. The two men behind him stopped at the doorway and watched as he moved towards a window and stuck his head right out, looking up along the building. There, he waited, and then another shot was fired. He brought his head back in and looked in the direction of their base and watched as the victim crawled along the floor, only to be eventually put down for good by another bullet.

_Enjoy it while it lasts, _he thought, turning around and completely ignoring his team. All they could do was turn and follow him up to the second floor, where the sniper's perch was.

For Rem, it didn't take very long at all before he came across an armed corpse. When he found that the man was armed with a shotgun, however, he grunted in irritation. His hands were still bound, and he couldn't separate them far enough to wield the shotgun correctly.

_Das why repeaters are better, _he thought, noting that if the shotgun had been, he would have been able to wield it.

Forgetting about it for now, he turned the man over and found something just right. A twelve millimeter pistol. Nothing fancy, but it would get the job done. He was taking it into his hand when he heard movement behind him. After turning his head to look over his shoulder, he immediately moved away, his legs carrying him into a graceful and silent stride that landed him right around a corner. Two men ran right by, hugging the outside wall, low to the ground to avoid the sniper, and Rem pounced on this opportunity that he was so good at procuring for himself. He pointed at the first man and squeezed the trigger relentlessly.

"Agh!" his victim yelled, contorting his back in pain as multiple bullets pierced into his unprotected back. His partner, which was ahead of him, began turning around just in time to catch a bullet over his left eyebrow, nullifying the armor that had been covering his body.

_Basterds,_ he thought, sneering in disgust after recognizing one of the men who had partaken in Pat's more excruciating moments.

_Serves yew right. _

Emma fired one last shot but when her quarry escaped her, she knew it was time to leave.

_Alright, they'll be here any second now, _she thought as she stood up and turned around. The moment she did, she watched the door swing open, and before she could even think about how she had misjudged how long they would take to find her, she pointed and fired. Claylon dodged to his left, getting out of the way of a bullet that instead found his comrade. "Argh!"

As the body hit the floor, she turned to her right and began running as silently as she could, looking to run through a hole in the wall that led to the next room. It wasn't until she saw movement in her periphery that she realized that she had made a big mistake in removing her gun sight from the doorway. Claylon emerged and squeezed with accuracy, sending a spray of automatic fire just as she dove past the threshold that separated the two areas.

She felt some of the bullets whistling by, others glancing off the armor, but above all, she was looking for that hollow thud. She found it- them, actually, and gritted her teeth the moment that she felt that all too familiar pain of being hit with a direct shot. The black armor was tough, but it wasn't power armor.

Claylon heard a feminine grunt and then the sound of armor sliding against the ground, and that was when he motioned for his wing man to move in. He nodded assertively and followed orders, rushing in with his gun trained, only to be shot in the head with something that didn't sound like a sniper rifle. Emma looked past the barrel of her revolver after her assailant hit the floor. Underneath the helmet, she winced in pain, and then spoke.

"It's just you and me now."

There was no response. Just silence, and she stood.

"Or is it just me?"

Again, there was nothing. Now it was about who would get the jump on who.

_Shit, why ain't there nobody else? We done already? _

By then, Rem couldn't find anybody left in Jackson Law Offices, and he hadn't heard a gunshot for a while. After some time, his best choice of action was to go find Pat, so he moved in that direction carefully and when he pushed the door in, he called for her in a low whisper.

"Pat?"

Nobody came out of hiding.

"Pat, you in here?"

Once he was far enough inside, he could ascertain that nobody was there. Then he heard automatic gunfire once again, and he turned his head in that direction.

_Emma. _

Claylon was moving around the building as silently as possible, barely even blinking when suddenly, someone paced into his sight. He was just about to fire when he realized that it was one of his own. Vladimir.

"I almost shot you. That Desert Ranger's in here somewhere."

Vladimir spoke out with a low, but clearly distressed tone, "Sir, everyone's dead. It's just us."

"What? How the hell did that happen?"

"The prisoners escaped. I think they got some of us, too."

"Claylon!"

The two of them turned around to see a naked female pointing a gun in their direction, firing wildly. Vladimir caught a bullet straight to one side of his head and began falling against Claylon's sturdy figure. He shrugged the weight off and aimed the barrel of his rifle in Pat's direction just as she hid behind a door way. When she did, Claylon smirked and squeezed the trigger, sending a spray of gunfire at the wall and after waiting there in silence, he heard the all too satisfying sound of a body hitting the floor unceremoniously on the other side. Then some breaths, and even a whimper.

"Gotcha," he whispered, and didn't even see it coming when he was shot in the back of the head.

Claylon's body fell lifelessly at Emma's feet, and as she looked down at him, she sneered. Her 44 magnum had done an outstanding job. She turned to look ahead just in time to see Rem run in, pointing his gun at her and lowering it after realizing who she was.

"The girl was hit," Emma said, and pointed at the directions he was in. "Go check on her."

Rem did just that, moving in the direction of the door with a sense of urgency to find Pat on the floor with her hands on her stomach, blood pouring out.

"Shit, Pat," he said with vivid distress.

She had dragged herself up against a wall. Rem could see the blood trail.

"Damn it," he paused, gritting his teeth as he knelt down beside her, setting the gun down. After assessing, he knew that there was no way she would make it without a stimpak. Nor he or Emma could perform the kind of surgery to repair intestinal damage. "We're gonna need a damn stimpak fer that. Emma! Yew still got that stimpak!"

"There you are!"

Rem turned his head to see the source of the voice and found Vicky. Her eyes were fierce, and she was holding a rocket launcher over her shoulder aimed straight at them. The seconds slowed, and Rem turned to his gun, reaching for it in vain as he heard the sound of the missile firing.

_It's over_, he thought, and heard, even felt, an explosion. But it wasn't fire. It was an adulterated force, like a fierce gust of wind crashing against him hard enough to throw him back. By the time he looked ahead, it was just in time to see pieces of Emma's armor flying in all directions, blood splattering against the floor. She had shielded them from the brunt of it with her body.

"Emma!"

His voice screamed loudly, barely audible against the backdrop of the explosion.

"Emma no! Emma!" He was screaming at the top of his lungs.

Vicky's eyes narrowed, but when she saw Rem on the other side lifting his gun again, she bolted. She dropped the rocket launcher and evaded the gunfire that followed.

"Yew bitch! You can't get away from me!"

He shot up from where he was and ran in the direction that Vicky had gone but came to a complete stop when he reached what was left of Emma. The gore that he saw there on the floor sent his mind into a frenzy, evoking images that he had seen in the past. His father's devastated head in particular. For him, the reel of images seemed to last a few minutes, but in all reality, he returned in less than three seconds and when he did, he was aware of what he had to do. He turned around to look at Pat, gritting his teeth in anger. If he went after Vicky, Pat would surely die.

As if the understanding that he couldn't go after Vicky wasn't enough, what he concluded he needed to do next made it worse. Pat watched him turn back to Emma's remains and kneel down over them, searching through the body parts. He was looking for the stimpak he had asked her for. After a while, he found it, in shambles, and that was when he lost it.

"Damn it! I'm gonna find you, yew hear that Vicky?"

His voice echoed all throughout, and he was confident it would reach the object of his anger.

"I'm going tew find yew and I'm gonna make yew pay!"

With tears readily flowing from his eyes, he turned and ran towards Pat, kneeling down in front of her, his body shivering. She looked at him with a pair of tired eyes. In the midst of her pain, she was also beleaguered with the disbelief that Emma had just done what she did, and that Rem had just had to comb through all of that blood to try and find a stimpak. Somehow, she was able to say something as he moved her hands and took a better look at her wounds.

"I'm sorry, Rem."

Her voice came out broken, but it was clear.

"Don't talk. Conserve yerself, Pat," he returned, choking at the end.

"Dis is werse than I thought," he added.

"Leave me then. Go after her."

"No, I can't," his eyebrows furrowed.

"Listen good, awright? I need you to put pressure on your stomach. As much as yew can. I know yer one tough bitch, Pat. Yew can do this. I need to find a stimpak. If we're lucky, there's one at Jackson Law Offices. I'm gonna go look as fast as I can, awright? Don't yew die on me," he pointed his index finger at her face.

For a while, she just stared at him, but eventually digressed and nodded.

Rem stood and bolted out, running down the stairs with his gun in hand, hoping he would find Vicky along the way. When he stepped outside, something about the silence in the air gave him a sense of finality, like he knew that things were going to end without the opportunity to kill Vicky here and now.

_Damn it. Fucking bitch. I'm gonna find her and . . . _

Upon entering Jackson Law Offices, he scrambled to look around. The first body that he searched through yielded results.

_Med-X. If I don't find a damn simpak, at least she'll go without any pain. _

Next, he searched through more bodies, finding drugs like psycho and more med-x eventually, even a pair of tweezers after a while, but as the passing minutes started to weigh more heavily because of his understanding that Pat didn't have much time, the more he started to realize that this was hopeless. Without a stimpak, it was over.

_I'm not gonna find one. Pat's gonna die. _

Five minutes went by, then ten, and then twenty. Pat was dead. He stopped running around and brought his hands up to his head in disbelief.

_Why the hell is this happening? Ain't there any mercy left in dis god damn werld? _

Finally, he dropped to his knees and let his shoulders slump. The gun slipped out of his hand and it started to feel like his father's death all over again. He remembered what he did that night. He knelt down in front of his father's body and went vacant. The very same thing started to happen to him now. His head began to tilt, his eyes trailing off in one direction along the floor.

A moment before he lost himself, he saw a stimpak. It was tucked under some filing cabinets.

His eyes focused again and widened.

_There!_

He took it and sprinted out as quickly as his feet could carry him.

_Still be alive. Still be alive. Please, still be alive. _

Running up the stairs felt like running up a twenty story building. He wasn't getting tired, but the time stretched out like it was made of rubber.

_Don't die on me. _

When he rounded the corner into Pat's room, her head was hung. The blood had pooled under her rear.

"Pat?"

A chill coursed through his body when there was no response.

_She's dead, Rem. _

He turned away from her unmoving body and dropped the stimpak to the floor, pacing out of the room with his eyes slowly going absent. Now that he had failed, he was allowing himself to progress into grief. He didn't have the room to crave vengeance anymore, either. At least not for now.

"Did you find one?"

The moment that he heard the voice, he snapped back and looked at Pat to find her staring up at him.

"Pat! I thought you was dead!"

Relief flooded through every nook and cranny in his body. Then, he picked up the stimpak and moved in her direction, taking off his shirt and bundling it up to use as a pillow. Afterwards, he helped her to lie down flat.

"Awright. I gotta get them bullets out before I use the stimpak. I have med-x, but . . . I ain't sure if yew can handle that."

Even in her current state, Pat's eyes managed to radiate a furious determination.

"I didn't stay alive just to die like that. Shoot me up and make it quick."

Rem nodded his head assertively and did just that, inserting the needle into her thigh and jettisoning the liquid into her body. Almost immediately, Pat felt her body go lighter. Her head followed, and then things slowed down as she watched Rem draw out a pair of tweezers from his pocket. She closed her eyes before she felt the pressure of the tweezers moving around inside her stomach. She found herself thinking about how excruciating that would have been without the med-x.

He dug out two bullets from her stomach and tossed them aside before he spoke.

"Here comes the stimpak. Git ready for the rush."

She didn't feel the needle, but she did feel that familiar sense of euphoria. She had used a stimpak on herself only once before, but she remembered the sensation, and it was somehow distorted now that it was mixed with the med-x. Her breath picked up after a while and then she could feel her heart thumping, beating with much more fervency than it ever would without drugs.

On Rem's end, he watched the stimpak do its work. The wounds on Pat's stomach dried before his very eyes, even closing to a subtle extent, and was relieved to see that there wasn't any more blood coming. Stimpaks were veritable miracles of medical advancement.

"I lost a lot of blood."

Rem answered with a savvy disposition, "Don't worreh. Fer stimpaks tew promote that fast skin cell regeneration, it has tew help the body make more blood cells ferst. Yew should be awright."

Knowledge on stimpaks was basic for Desert Rangers. It was something they were all taught.

Pat nodded her head slowly, and now that she had been convinced that she wasn't going to die, her eyes came to a slow close as she allowed herself to drift off into a deep sleep.


	15. Life as a Desert Ranger

**Mojave Wasteland **

**August 22nd 9:50 pm **

**2267**

Up until the second that he was finished taking care of Pat, which included finding a place to set her down for rest, cleaning the blood off of her body and finding a set of clothes that she could put on when she woke up, his mind was occupied. Afterwards, however, he was given all the freedom he needed to progressively degrade into thoughts about Emma. He left the room in silence, closing the door very gently behind him, and moved into the hallway right outside. After reaching the wall, he turned his back against it and slid down, landing on his rear with his eyes staring straight forward. He felt alone again. Like a child, even. Like when his father was killed.

_Emma_, he thought, his eyes coming to a close, his face forming into an expression of profound regret. His head hung suddenly, as if all the muscles in his neck had abruptly lost the strength to hold it up, and tears began to form behind the eyelids as he remembered how the brutal scene had unfolded. One of the walls in the room that Pat had been injured in was broken down, likely by the virtue of time alone, and because of it, Vicky had been able to fire at them from a comfortable distance. Emma found her way in there somehow. He didn't really know how she did it, but she did, and just in time to throw herself into the trajectory of the rocket. The image of when body parts went flying in every direction made him wince and shake his head as if he was just trying to deny it all away; make it so that it hadn't actually happened.

_Naw, that couldn't have happened to Emma_, he thought, raising his hands up to his forehead. _It did. She got blown to pieces. _He remembered an image of her face just then, and it made things much, much more painful to think about. He was never going to hear her voice again, never see her eyes again, never call her name again. She was gone. Another casualty of the wasteland. Another good person whose actions would go unrecognized by the vast majority of the world, him being the only exception. She deserved better than that, he thought . . .

_Yew deserved forgiveness for that thang yew did, Emma. _

The tears grew more generous, overflowing and trailing down his cheeks.

_Yew were just a good a person as anyone. Yew just made mistakes. _

As he sat there, he thought back on a lot of things, like the day he had been assigned to her. She had come to Ranger Center answering a call to a safehouse for a teacher, and he remembered that she didn't spend any time there. She picked him up and left, with barely any conversation with anyone. She really had been all alone all that time. The next thing that found its way into his mind was a lesson that she had imparted on him. He heard it in his head as though he was hearing it through his ears.

_You haven't become the perfect Desert Ranger when you've gotten yourself ready for everything that's going to happen ahead in life. You've become the perfect Desert Ranger when you've learned to live with yourself. When you've learned to accept yourself for all the mistakes you've made and are going to make again in the name of doing what's right, and continue performing your duties to the best of your abilities._

He lifted his head again, pressing the back of it against the solid wall.

_Damn Emma, that's one hell of a thang tah live wit. Yew paid yer debt in full. I'm just sorry I didn't have a chance tew try an' convince yew of that. _

Finally, he choked and sniffed, crying fluidly now but not loudly, but still able to hear himself clearly in the silence.

_Gonna have tew go back and bury yew. Gotta do somethin' nice. Somethin' that would make yew feel like you don't have tah be guilty anymore if ye was lookin' down on me. _

He glanced in the direction of the door again. This whole area appeared safe. It wasn't Jackson Law Offices, or the building where Emma had been killed. It was a few yards away, fairly nondescript and free of harmful anomalies.

_Pat'll be awright,_ he decided, and stood up.

After he reached the doorway that would reveal Emma's remains, he stopped. Did he really want to see it?

_No, yew don't, Rem. But this ain't about yew._

That in mind, he stepped inside and looked towards the enormous puddle of blood on the floor. In one area, he found a fraction of a hand, and saw some of the chipped nail polish that she had left on for a while after she had run out. He remembered the day she found it. She didn't make much of a fuss about it when she did but he knew that she enjoyed it after he saw her wearing it. She had worn it on her toes, too.

_C'mon Rem, stop thinkin' so much. Yer only gonna make this harder on yerself. _

He paced forward finally, his booted feet rippling subtly in the puddle of blood until he reached her fragmented upper body. Her face, thankfully, was covered in her cracked helmet. The thought of seeing her lifeless eyes would have haunted him. As he stared at her, it didn't hit him until then that this had been his fault. If he hadn't gone off with Vicky, this wouldn't have happened. The thought of that hurt like a clawed hand had gripped his heart and squeezed.

_I'm sorry, Emma. I'm sorry I dragged yew into dis. This is all my fault. _

Slowly, he lowered onto his knees and hands, hanging his head over her as he wept. A sorrowful hour later, he had gathered up as many pieces of her body as he could find with his bare hands, and had piled it all up on top of curtains, and many other fabrics that he was able to find in the surrounding area, but when he was standing in front of her, his viewpoint changed. Now it felt as though if he didn't see her face, it would be disrespectful, so he found himself removing the black helmet. Upon doing so, her head lifelessly turned to face him, but her eyes were closed. She looked like she had just fallen straight to sleep.

A nauseating sense of deja vu hit him.

After nearly throwing up, he reached out towards her and caressed her cheek, leaving a blood trail there and noting how cold she had become. His eyes flickered, his lips quivered, and tears flowed down his cheeks all over again.

_Awright, enough. _

He took in a deep breath and composed himself.

"This is one of the werst mistakes I'ma have tew live wit, Emma, but I ain't gonna let yer lessons go tew waste."

He reached up to her head and caressed her hair, keeping his eyes on her face and nothing more. The rest of her was too hard to look at.

"Yew weren't alone when you died. Yew had someone who loved you. I did, Emma. I didn't know it, I guess, but damn if it herts this much, I have to have loved yew, right?"

He leaned in pressed his forehead up against hers, closing his eyes.

"Yew rest well, sweet heart. You ain't gotta worry about nothin' no more, 'cause yew went somewhere far away from this shit hole we were livin' in. When it's my turn, I'll make sher I bring along sum o' dat wine yew liked. Just in case that bastard upstairs don't allow alcohol."

After planting a kiss on her forehead, he began stepping back.

"I love you, doll."

He held up a cloth and used a lighter to set it on fire. Once it was on, he tossed it in Emma's direction and stood there until the other fabrics caught fire. Once Emma was entirely covered in those crackling crimson tendrils, he turned around and left as he picked up her broken helmet, knowing that once the fabric was done burning, the fire would die.

Rem exited the building with a lot to think about. Things concerning Emma and life in general. How frail life was. Every face he saw, every voice he heard, could so easily be swept away from the land of the living. First his father, then his mother, and now Emma. It dawned on him how naive he had been. He had always thought that if he was out helping everyone he could, satisfaction with how his life was going would come easy. It was much more complex than that. In this venue, he was going to have to weave through a dense jungle of guilt and grief to get there. Some people could do that without breaking a sweat, others couldn't. Which one was he?

The door to Pat's room opened and Rem's blue eyes glanced in her direction, watching her rest peacefully against the pale moonlight for a moment before stepping inside. He sat himself down against one of the walls there and breathed out, resting the back of his head against the wall as he wrapped a cloth tightly around his left thumb. He had popped it back into place, but the best he could do now was hope that it didn't heal too crooked. His eyes stared at the ceiling before he closed them. Somewhere throughout the night, he dozed off. He may not have been injured to Pat's extent, but he was very tired in his own right.

**Mojave Wasteland **

**August 23rd 6:32 am **

**2267 **

He awoke to gunshots in the long, long distance. It was a typical sound to the wasteland. Sort of like bells to a church, or waves to a beach. First, his eyes moved in Pat's direction to find her sitting up. Instantly, he tensed up and rushed to stand.

"Pat, yer awake."

"Yeah. You looked tired, so I didn't wake you."

Her eyes dipped towards the shirt he was wearing. One he'd taken from one of the dead mercs, stained with Emma's blood.

"That's not all my blood, is it?"

Rem looked down at his chest, his eyes going small when he saw it. In response, he shook his head.

"Who?"

He inhaled and exhaled. She could tell he was uncomfortable talking about it.

"I went back tew Emma last night. I cremated her."

Pat's voice responded a little venomously, "You couldn't wait for me?"

His blue eyes lit up, "Sorreh, I didn't think . . . "

"She saved my life, too. Come here, help me up. I want to go pay my respects."

When they arrived, Rem stayed at a distance because he didn't want to see what was left of her body. He thought that what he had seen the night before would surely be more gruesome, but way he saw it, he had done what he was going to do and he wasn't interested in reliving those moments.

It took a few minutes for Pat to eventually return, carrying herself along as best she could without Rem's help until he paced up to her and alleviated her from it.

"Yer goin' back tew bed. Once yer all healed up, we're goin' back tew Eastside."

Pat didn't say anything, but she did as he said. He was helping her get into bed when she decided to ask, "How was it? I mean . . . last night. How did it go?"

Again, Rem drew breath and released, but answered anyway.

"It went well. I said some thangs that I hope she can hear. I ain't religious, but times like these make yew wonder if yer makin' a mistake."

Pat nodded her head and shifted to get as comfortable as she could. She was dressed now. Rem had gotten her some jeans that were too big for her, but with the belt, it stayed on her waist. The dark shirt she wore was also too big for her, but she wasn't complaining.

"Good," she said.

"Yeah," he answered, "Awright, let me see about gettin' us some food. If yer gonna git better, yew need to get some food in yer stomach."

He didn't give Pat a chance to answer before he headed off. She leaned back into her improvised pillow, thinking about how lucky she was to be alive. Without Emma and Rem, she would have been raped many more times and would have eventually been executed. That was the good news, but she found herself thinking about other problems she might have. Like pregnancy. Very few things had ever put fear into her, and those things usually involved guns or knives, but pregnancy, right now, sounded more terrifying than anything she had ever faced.

The closest place where food could be found would be Jackson Law Offices, so that was where he decided to take a look. Eventually, he found a refrigerator and when he opened it, the first thing he remembered was the mistake he made recently. No way he was going to ingest human flesh again. This time, he thoroughly inspected the food therein and, sure enough, he ended up having to separate the Brahmin from Bruce. The thought of that was nauseating.

He returned to Pat a while later. The food had been warmed up at a campfire, and he set the chipped plate decorated with brahmin steak on her lap. A Nuka Cola followed.

"Here you go. Eat up."

Pat would have normally started to eat immediately, but she wasn't able to when she realized that Rem hadn't brought a plate.

"You better eat something too, Rem."

He perceived that tone in her voice that sounded more threatening than encouraging, but he felt too drained to go through this.

"Already did. I ate while yer food was cookin'."

The response was sincere. It seemed to convince her.

"I'll be outside," he added.

"Where you going?"

"I just need some time tah myself, das all. Now that yer fine fer now, I can leave you alone fer a lil bit. Don't worry, I'll be back."

She watched him go and once he was gone, she looked down at her food, forcing herself to eat. For the most part, however, she found herself concerned with Rem. She didn't know him well, but after what they had been through together, she had developed a sense of . . . familiarity with him.

Rem stepped back into Jackson Law Offices and began looking through all of the rooms casually, unsure of what he was looking for. Eventually, he came across the armory, and therein, he found his gear. His repeater was there, his silenced 45, and even his kevlar vest. It wasn't time to put any of it on but he did take it with him, noting that when it was time to leave, Pat would be able to take her combat armor back and her weapon, too.

He was pacing around the area still when he opened another door and glanced inside. It looked like an office had been turned into a room of sorts, and when he looked off to one corner, he saw a computer monitor there. It was on.

_Wudda we have here? _

After sitting down on the chair in front of it, he leaned in and looked at the information there. What he found there was logs.

**Logged: Vicky. **

**We followed the Desert Ranger and her apprentice into town. They were obviously headed for Eastside, and as it turns out, we've got a few friends out here. Jason's going to love hearing about it. We're going to get rid of those two pesky escorts and see if we can use their disappearing act to draw them out here. Desert Rangers are supposed to help anyone, right? I'm counting on that fairytale bullshit. **

**Logged: Jason.**

**We caught the escorts. The girl's going to save us some caps with the mercenaries we've hired, so we're going to eat the big guy. Lots of meat to go around. Then again, nobody but me and Vicky are cannibals. Still! Looks to me like we're going to have ourselves one hell of a feast. I was thinking that I didn't want to ruin my appetite, but nothing's going to make eating those Desert Rangers less fulfilling. Those bastards killed our family.  
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**Logged: Vicky. **

**Claylon worries me. i feel like the only reason he doesn't kill us is because we make it pretty clear that he'll make more money if he lets us live to make business again later. Hopefully that lesbian bitch keeps him happy. **

**Logged: Vicky. **

**Jason said he found a nice place for us to move into. He said it used to be a printing press here in Pahrump. He went on and on about the usual bullshit about how it was in good condition and therefore more defensible if shit hit the fan. Then again, that's the same crap my dad spewed about the last place we were staying in, and look at him. **

After reading the last log, Rem turned the terminal off and leaned back in his chair.

_Printin' press. That's where the bitch would head. If I can find it . . . _

He slammed his hand down against the desk in frustration, thinking about how it would be impossible. She hadn't given a general direction, or anything at all that he might be able to go by.

_Fuck. What should I do? _

He sat there, thinking.

_I got it. I'ma ask Pat if she's seen any damn printin' presses in the town. If not her, maybe someone in Pahrump has. I'm gonna find yew, bitch, and when I do . . . _

His eyes narrowed, remembering how unfulfilled he felt to kill Wesley conventionally.

The next time Pat's door opened, Rem was carrying a lot more stuff. She couldn't deny to herself that she was relieved to see her combat armor again.

"Oh, you found it. Thanks."

Rem set the stuff down on the floor and paced towards her.

"Pat, can I ask yew somethin'?"

She had to wonder why he would even ask her if he could. Must have been something important.

"Yeah, go ahead," she answered.

"Yew seen any printin' presses in town?"

She was stumped by the question but stopped to think it through. Her eyes moved from one direction to the next almost as if she was looking at one place first and then another. After a few tense moments, her eyes lit up, "Yeah. I have. The Oxford Press. Why?"

Rem asked with more severity now, "Where is it?"

"You would have to head towards Eastside again, and go past it."

Immediately, he turned around and started heading for his gear.

"What the hell's going on?"

"I think that Vickeh might be there. If I wait any longer, she might be gone. I have tew go now."

"Wait a minute. I'm coming with you."

"Yer just gonna slow me down."

"Fuck that. I don't give a damn what you say! I'm coming with you."

When he looked over his shoulder, he watched her hoist herself off of bed and pace towards her combat armor. She was wincing an eye, but she was fighting through the discomfort as best she could.

"Pat- - "

"You're not going to get me to stay. It's my choice to follow you. You can't make me fucking stay."

He stared at her, shaking his head, but he let it go once he realized he had to. In the end, he was finished getting dressed much before she was, and he ended up having to help her get into her armor. From there, she took a plasma rifle that they found in the armory at Jackson Law Offices and were on their way. Rem was walking with a brisk pace. He regretted being cold towards Pat about this, but he was surprised to see that even though she fell back sometimes, she wasn't falling far enough behind to warrant attention. Pat was tough as nails.


	16. Degradation starts slowly

**Mojave Wasteland**

**August 23rd 10:23 am **

**2267**

_Those were the most worthless mercenaries I ever met. Every time I turned around, one of them was dead. _

Despite the fact that she had watched the Desert Ranger get blown to pieces by the rocket, Vicky was frustrated. All of her men were gone, she had left all the caps she spent on them behind, and she had failed to kill both of the objects of her hatred. Worse yet, Jason was missing, and she had the unsettling hunch that she wasn't ever going to be seeing him again.

_If he isn't back by tonight . . . _

She leaned forth, her rear resting on the very edge of the chair she was sitting on, thinking long and hard.

_He can't be gone. _

As pitiful as she thought it was, she found herself feeling lonely. After her father and brother had gotten killed, all she remembered feeling was anger, but now that Jason was missing, it was starting to feel more like anguish. Worry, too, because she didn't have anybody anymore that would watch her back without charging her a single bottle cap.

_I'll just wait, _she concluded, abruptly standing from the chair and stepping forward in the direction of a duffle bag set on the floor. Upon reaching it, she knelt down in front of it and began digging out some of the supplies. There were clothes, food, a few pistols, and a superfluous amount of purified water. She took a few bottles into hand and turned away, walking a few steps before the clothes started to fall off.

Not long after, she began pouring water on herself. Her eyes came to a slow close as the cold fluid graced her crown, spilling forth onto the rest of her countenance and soaking more of her hair along the way. Her hands, which were almost always in a shudder, rose to rub the water further along the skin.

_My hands are shaking a little more than they used to. _

She remembered the first time she noticed her hands shaking. It happened during one of the meals. There was a nicely cooked piece of human muscle, pulled from the thighs, sitting on a plate in front of her when she stopped to see it. Her father stopped, too, and upon noticing that her hands were, in fact, shuddering, he erupted into a jovial roar that scared everyone on the table.

"My baby's all grown up," she recalled him yelling.

Her head started to shake from one side to the other, her eyes closing gently. She hated that so much, but found it so amusing at the same time. He knew that the disease meant a particularly nasty ending for those who suffered from it, yet here he was, praising her like the first time she had butchered a victim and prepared him for dinner. She started to laugh, her shoulders lifting and dropping a few quick times before her facial expression went solemn again. Laughter, when you're suffering from Kuru, is a foreboding thing.

Another bottle was popped open and more water began to pour down her shoulders, creeping down her belly and into her intimate regions. From there, she bent over and rubbed the water down her knees, washing away the filth, letting it drip onto the floor before she lifted and began rubbing the sweat from between her breasts away.

* * *

><p>"There it is," Pat called, breathing heavily and coming to a full stop. Her body bent downward, her hands pressing against her knees for rest. The pain in her stomach area, at this point, was intense. Rem had repeated to her many times to stop and just give him the directions. Naturally, she refused, and when he got ready to be forceful about it, she trained her gun on him. If it wasn't for that hateful look in her eye, that seething shimmer of vengeance therein, he would have been angry. Instead, he understood that she hated Vicky just as much as he did for what had been done to her.<p>

"Let's go inside."

"No," he responded, holding his hand out.

Just because he understood her didn't mean he liked it.

"Yer breathin' way too hard, first off, and Vicky ain't deaf."

Rem paused, staring at the establishment from a safe distance. Then, he spoke.

"It don't look like there's much activity there. If she ain't in there alone, she ain't got much company. I just hope she ain't thought of that terminal she left on."

The idea that she might remember having left the terminal on and realize that he may have gotten a clue as to where she was entered his mind the moment he found it, but he thought that it was likeliest that she wouldn't even think of the terminal at all.

"I don't give a fuck. Let's just go."

He listened to her trudging and spoke out with irritation clearly audible in his tone.

"No. We wait. Yew'll make too much damn noise."

She kept walking, and after a few moments, he took an aggressive step towards her and placed his hand on her shoulder. It resulted in the same thing that happened before. Pat twisted around quicker than he imagined an injured person could and trained the plasma rifle on his face. The same passion in her eyes was present. As for Rem, he wasn't caught by surprise this time, so there was a deep, stern look in his eye as he stared into her eyes and not the plasma rifle.

"I'm going in," she claimed.

After a pause, she added, "Got it?"

Rem didn't say a thing, and she turned around, pacing towards the building while his eyes narrowed. He had never worked with someone so irritating. This was the first example he ever saw of what the difference was when working with someone who wasn't a Desert Ranger.

"Stay quiet, ya hear?"

She ignored him while he drew his pistol, and upon reaching the door, Rem paced closer.

"Open it slowly."

Pat erupted forward and lifted her leg, kicking the door down with such strength that the sound reverberated throughout the entire printing press. Rem's eyes went wide and he felt a sudden heat flood his cheeks. His face reddened because of the anger.

"Yew dumb ass!"

She ignored him again, stepping forth into the facility while Rem stared at her. He couldn't believe it. Was she really being this stupid? Was she really this unreasonable? That was when it hit him. As a Desert Ranger, it was his responsibility to not be drawn into a lethal current that was fueled by the recklessness of others.

Rem stepped forth slowly and clobbered Pat in the side of the head without any hesitation at all. The jarring impact rattled her brain, triggering a swift unconsciousness that she never saw coming. Her limp body hit the floor and he lowered, scooping her up and dragging her further inside.

_Fucking dumb ass, _he thought.

_Can't believe yew made me do this. I ain't gonna die out here, and I sure as hell ain't gonna let Vicky git away 'cause of yer stupidity. _

Suddenly, he got angrier.

_If she hasn't already. _

He jerked her body behind a desk and stuffed her underneath it like he was plugging a drain with a towel.

* * *

><p>Vicky's shoulders jumped when she heard the loud crashing noise. It sounded metallic, and the screeching that followed from it sounded familiar. Like a door opening, and that was when she knew someone was there. Or something.<p>

_Maybe it's Jason, _she thought.

The weight lifted from her chest.

_God, I hope it is. _

"Jason!"

She couldn't fight back the excitement while her voice echoed throughout the entire establishment. Her clothes started to come back on and she continued to think.

_It has to be him. Too coincidental. Who would come here other than him? _

Once enough clothes were on, she began pacing in the direction of where she heard the noise and continued calling out.

"Jason! You hear me?"

The sound reverberated some more, and when she rounded the next corner, she saw a man standing there looking around because the echo was making it extremely difficult to pinpoint the source of the name calling. It didn't matter when a shadow entered his periphery, however. Rem turned to see her. Their eyes locked and Vicky's heart raced. Rem's heart pounded all the same, and his watchful eyes suddenly became intense.

_Oh fuck! _

She retreated around the corner just as Rem's silenced 45 fired. The whistling noise was barely audible but the sound of a bullet striking the corner of the wall was not.

"I told yew I would find yew Vicky!"

_How the fuck did he find me?_

She felt for her weapon and realized that she had been stupid enough to leave it behind. That in mind, she turned to run, sprinting as fast as she could while Rem popped around the corner and lost the chance to fire.

"Vicky!" he called, his voice echoing just like hers had. "Yew can't git away from me. Just let it settle that by the time this thang is over with, yew'll be dead! Yer gonna pay, wherever yew go!"

Despite what he was saying, she continued running.

"Where are ya? Come on out!"

She bolted into the factory floor, where all the printing presses were located and picked out the first nondescript location she could find and hid inside. In the cover of darkness, she couldn't be seen. For a while, there was nothing but silence. During those quiet moments, she cursed the fact that her guns were still fairly far away. She could get shot on her way there.

"I got a story fer yew, Vicky. I know yew can hear me, too."

Her eyebrows raised, eyes following a random direction like she might see where it was coming from, but nothing was there.

"When I was fourteen years old a man killed my father. So I killed him back! I emptied a cylinder into his head! I was so damn angry one bullet wasn't enough!"

The fear was starting to boil inside of her.

"And yew know, even after those six bullets, it** still **wudn't enough! I killed that pig and it didn't matter! He wasn't worth my father's life! And yew, yew aren't worth Emma's life!"

A loud crashing noise echoed through the area, causing her shoulders to jump. She realized then that he was messing with her . . . and it was working.

"So I ain't just gonna kill yew, Vicky," he said, voice calmer than before, with some sense of finality therein.

"I'm gonna torture ya."

Her heart sunk so low and beat so hard that her head was pulsing. She felt so helpless all of a sudden. Terrified to the core.

"I think that makin' yew suffer just might make me feel a lil' more like the debt's been paid."

He dragged in a deep breath like he was dragging something out of water and added as he exhaled, "When I find yew."

She stayed silent and unmoving for a few moments. There was sweat trailing down her forehead and eventually, her knees started to shake. Her knees, literally, began to shake.

_Fuck this! _

Vicky exploded from where she was hiding and ran down the aisle.

"I see yew Vicky!"

Her chest tingled and she went between two machines immediately, stumbling into another pathway on the other side that she hoped she was safer in.

"Yew ain't got nowhere to go!"

She ran faster and faster until she had reached her limit. Then, as she ran along ever so frantically, her effort came to an abrupt end. A repeater swung out from around the next corner and the sturdy, wooden buttstock cracked against her nose, splintering the cartilage and causing blood to spill forth.

Her vision spun while her hands reached up to her nose. When she felt the warm fluid dripping onto her palms and fingers, she held her hands out to look at it, and then felt him reaching at each of her arms and forcing them behind her.

"Let me go!"

As she struggled, a knee came down on the back of her neck with little regard for the discomfort and kept her in place. She gritted her teeth as Rem tied her hands together with a prickly rope. Once he was finished, he pushed down with his knee, causing her to grunt.

"Stop bein' angry and start bein' scared, Vicky. This is where yer sufferin' begins."

It was as if he knew just the right words to say. For a moment there, she had been more caught up with being surprised and intent on escaping, but he dragged her right back to that fearful place.

Still, she kicked her legs but before she could do much, he pushed down again, placating her jerks.

"Sit tight," he uttered with a low, but passionate, tone. The next thing he did was bind her legs together, and she found herself absolutely powerless to stop it.

_Fuck, he's really going to torture me! _

Rem lifted his weight off of her eventually and grabbed her shirt, dragging her along the floor until he reached one of the printing presses. She wondered why he had stopped there, but after he set down his repeater and grasped an old, rugged hammer from one of the surfaces of the machine, she didn't need to wonder anymore.

He turned towards her and held the hammer up for her to see.

"Just so yew know, Vicky, I'm gonna start wit yer legs. Gonna break every bone. Then I'ma do yer arms. I ain't gonna listen when you scream fer me to stop."

All she could do was stare up at him in disbelief. The seconds slowed.

Then, he leaned in with one abrupt motion and swung the hammer. She twisted her body as best she could but to no avail. The hammer struck her right kneecap. She screamed and rolled onto her stomach and began attempting to squirm away only to feel another strike, followed by another, and another. Each time, Rem could feel something cracking, but it was her screaming that satisfied him most.

"Yew feel that, Vicky? I ain't gonna stop 'til yer legs feel like sacks o' bones!"

He struck again and her head lifted, yelling into the ait at the top of her lungs.

"Please, stop! No more! I'm sorry!"

While she sobbed, Rem didn't find any room in his heart to store any mercy because it was replete with hate, anger, and grief. Strangely enough, he found a profound sense of fulfillment when she started to become pitiful.

So he continued.

Vicky turned wildly, glancing up at him with tearful eyes while he tirelessly slaughtered her legs with the same, bloody hammer. Over and over again, until she couldn't drag herself through the floor without leaving a blood skid.

"Are yew sorry, Vicky?" His voice got louder and louder.

She lifted her head without hesitation and begged, "Yes! Stop!"

He paused, staring down at her, struggling to catch his breath. Each of his hands hurt after alternating the hammer from one to the other periodically. Vicky lay there on her side, her shoulders lifting and dropping as she delicately cried in pain.

"Gewd," he said, "Now I just gotta do yer arms."

"No!"

Rem stared down at her, peering deeply into the despair in her eyes.

"Yew ain't got a choice, Vicky. Yew did somethin' very, very wrong, and yew gotta pay. Yer life alone ain't enough. So it's gotta be somethin' else."

"No, please! I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry."

She slowly degraded into a pitiful, nearly silent cry while she let her cheek settle against the cold factory floor. By then, she could no longer even drag herself. The pain was too unbearable.

"I told yew nothin' would stop me. Yew remember, don't yew?"

Her eyes came to a slow, regretful close now that she lay there. Rem gritted his teeth and squeezed the hammer. Then, he lifted it and stepped forth towards her.

"No! Oh my god, please! It hurts so much! I can't take it anymore!"

"That ain't my problem, missy."

He raised the hammer high and she turned onto her back, hiding her arms from him since they were tied behind her.

"If yew want me to hit yew in yer body until yew die, that's fine, too, Vicky."

"Rem, please . . . "

His eyes intensified, "Don't call me by my name," he commanded. Thereafter, he lowered towards her and turned her onto her stomach again. She immediately moaned in pain and jerked her body.

"No! No more!"

He held the hammer up and swung once more, cracking her elbow with one strike and garnering a loud, screeching wail from Vicky. Then he straightened up again and stared at her, realizing that this last strike hadn't quite felt like any of the others. This one felt cruel. It felt inhumane. Excessive. After a small session of self analysis, he dropped the hammer and reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

_Is this it? Is this what it should feel like when they've paid the price? _

"Alright, Vicky," he said. "I think I'm done torturin' yew."

The relief that flooded over her was unlike any other. With so much pain in her legs and now her elbow, the idea that it would all stop was so comforting.

"But there's still one more thang I gotta do."

"No," she yelped, crying again.

"Yew still gotta die, Vicky. I still gotta put one in yer head. Or maybe six, jest like the bastard that killed my father."

"Please," she begged . . . and he pulled the trigger.

When her body went lifeless, he kept the silencer trained on her head. He came so very close to pulling the trigger again but something within him changed the circumstances. He had to imagine that it had something to do with what he had done to her. While he lowered his weapon and rubbed his face with the other hand, he wondered why it felt like he had done something terrible. He turned away from her and began putting distance between himself and that pitiful puddle of blood and broken bones.

Upon stepping outside through the same lobby that he had entered through, leaving Pat unconscious under the desk, he didn't quite know how he felt. There was definitely some sense of finality, like he was glad that it was over at the very least. But he still felt wrong, too.

_She deserved it. Crazy bitch. Emma didn't deserve that. Vicky did. _

Half minded, he paced on towards an old, decrepit bus bench that was sitting right outside the printing press and sat down. It tilted in response to his weight but didn't topple, and he leaned in, resting both elbows on his knees while he continued thinking.

_People like her ain't gonna be seein' no mercy from me. No benefit of the doubt. Nothin'. Just death. And sometimes . . . pain. _

The sound of feet shifting caused him to suddenly turn his head, training the pistol in the direction of the source. He found Pat pointing her plasma rifle at him, her eyebrows furrowed. At first, Rem almost lowered his weapon again because he thought it was just an accident, but after a prolonged stare between the two of them, he thought that maybe she was angrier than she needed to be.

_Not puttin' my gun down 'til she does. I ain't gonna die 'cause some dumb bitch don't know how to control her emotions. I'll kill her if I have to. _

Rem stared back, unblinking. Then, finally, she lowered her weapon and stood straighter. Her eyes, however, never left his. He lowered his gun as well and relaxed now, turning back around. A pause followed, and it was broken by Pat.

"You really did a number on her."

He was surprised that she wasn't screaming obscenities about how he had knocked her out. Maybe she was satisfied with how Vicky had suffered, or maybe it was just that lethal certainty with which Rem had kept the gun trained on her forehead that did it. Whatever it was, his head lowered, and he rested his face inside his hands. From between them, he spoke, and it was barely audible.

"Sometimes a bullet or six ain't enough, Pat."

"What?"

"Nothin'."

She watched him stand up and holster his pistol. After that, he slipped both hands into his pockets and stared out into the town in front of him. There was nothing other than blowing wind to see. Pat wondered what was going through his mind, but eventually gave up on it.

"I guess appearances can be misleading."

"We all got feelins, Pat."

After he said that, Bruce popped into mind. It wasn't until then that he realized that he had been less than considerate about that man, and that Pat hadn't even mentioned him.

"Dontcha feel some kinda bad 'bout Bruce?"

"He's not the first partner I lose. I've lost five."

"Yew've got balls of steel, Pat."

Slowly but surely, she had to smile, but quickly reeled herself back in and let her face go serious again. Rem was still standing there, just glancing out, and finally, he

decided it was time to leave.

"I'm goin' back to Eastside now. I gotta go get my horse and report back to Ranger Center. Yew comin' with?"

She hesitated, as if she was thinking it through, but answered, "Yeah."

"Awright, c'mon," he said. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>It had taken longer than usual to get to Eastside because along the way, he stopped to give Pat a well needed rest. Now that they were back, she had been treated for her wounds and was now recovering on a nice, comfortable mattress somewhere. Rem was in the room he and Emma had rented, sitting atop the couch with her black helmet in his hands. At times, he stared into the green visors and imagined how it used to be Emma staring right back at him. Other times he turned it over and surveyed the cracks, awestruck by the damage that rocket had wrought.<p>

_Damn. That was one hell of a blast. _

His lips pressed together and he exhaled in regret.

_Gonna make sure they have a good ceremony fer yew back at Ranger Center. They'll fire rifle rounds into the air. I'll go up to the podium and say some words. I'll personally engrave a quote into yer tombstone. _

Then, he took another glance at the helmet.

_I'll do somethin' wit yer helmet, too. Might see if I can mount it on yer tombstone or somethin'. _

After setting it down on a table beside him, he turned and laid down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. His eyes moved from one place to the other for a few minutes until his eyelids closed and stopped it.

_I'll tell my children about yew, Emma. I'll tell other Desert Rangers what I learned from yew. Sound good? _

It happened suddenly, but just like that, he fell asleep.


	17. How to live

**Mojave Wasteland **

**August 26th 10:57 AM**

**2267**

Waking up that day was horrible. He wished he had stayed asleep. The nausea, tag teaming with a droopy headache of some kind, made him want to throw up, but he did his best to stop himself. After coming to an understanding that he was hungover, he turned his head and looked around, finding himself in his apartment. He was on the couch.

_Was I here when I fell asleep? _

He put forth some effort to remember but by the time he was done perusing his mind, attempting to pick out memories within that tangled mess, he found nothing. Quite simply, he just couldn't remember, for the life of him. He began standing up when he heard a voice.

"You're up."

He recognized who it was immediately.

"Pat?"

"Shawna told me you've been shitfaced drunk the past two days straight. You fell asleep at one of her tables last night, and she was worried someone might pick your pockets. If I hadn't gotten there, you would probably not only have one hell of a hangover, but you would probably be broke, too."

After his feet touched the ground and his rear was settled flatly on the cushion, his hands raised and rubbed at his forehead. He did that for a while until he began his exhausted answer.

"Mhm. Thank yew. I really appreciate it, Pat." He sounded a lot more sarcastic than anything.

"You're not complaining now because it didn't happen to you. If it had, you'd be throwing a bitch fit. I know."

His hands dripped from his countenance and he stared straight ahead. There was silence between them while Pat paced towards the couch and plopped down on it beside him. She wasn't wearing her armor, which made him curious.

"Yew ain't workin' yet?"

She turned her head to him with a look of question.

"No. I'm going with you, remember?"

Rem's face soured, wondering what the hell she was talking about.

"When did I say that?"

"When we got done with Vicky. You said you were coming back to Eastside and that afterwards, you were going to report to -"

He realized where the confusion was before she was even finished. His eyebrows raised and he turned to glance at her before he spoke.

"I didn't mean to Ranger Center. I meant just here to Eastside."

"Oh . . . "

He glanced ahead again, bringing both hands together and intertwining his fingers.

"I guess we got confused," she said.

"Yeah, looks like we did."

A pause ensued. Pat expected him to be the nice guy he had made himself out to be and extend an invitation despite the confusion, but when it didn't come, she realized that this wasn't going to be easy.

"Well . . . "

He glanced at her, which made it harder for her to say.

"Can I still come?"

"Why?"

She wished he hadn't asked. Now she had to come up with some answer. After thinking about it, she finally understood what her reason was.

"Ever since I said I'd come with you I'd been happy to get the hell out of here. I guess I just don't want to be here anymore, and you seem like you're going places. Come on, you know you can use someone to watch your back. I owe you that much for saving my ass back there anyway."

Her attention turned to his thumb. It was still bandaged, and he seemed to be keeping it fairly still.

"How's your thumb, anyway?"

Rem skipped the question, "Yew don't owe me anythang. It's my job- what I'm s'posed to do."

"Yeah, yeah, I know it wasn't about saving the beautiful damsel in distress that you cared so much about. Point is, you saved my life, and I want to make up for it by spending a few months watching your back. Is it really that much of a problem?"

He seemed to pause for a while, clearly thinking about it thoroughly before his lips moved, "I don't know what's gonna happen once I git to Ranger Center. They'll prolly send me out wit' another teacher or somethin'. I doubt whoever that is will be alright with havin' yew around."

"Then let me come with you to Ranger Center. From there, we'll go our separate ways. Sound good?"

It wouldn't have mattered how hard he thought about it. In the end, there was just no way of arguing against it. And he wasn't the type to come up with a lie just to get rid of her.

"Fine," he answered.

Pat was relieved. Relieved enough for her body to relax, and for her to face forward again now that things were settled. Then, out of nowhere, Rem spoke with some measure of vehemence.

"Wait a minute," he called, turning to her and lifting his right hand, pointing his index finger down at a diagonal angle to stress what he was about to say. "Yew can come wit' me if yew listen to what I say. If I tell you to stay quiet, yew stay quiet. If I tell yew to hold yer fire, or to lower yer weapon, yew do it. Ya hear?"

She stared at him with a lackadaisical expression. .

"Fine. Whatever you say."

He turned away from her again and stood at the same time, seemingly satisfied with her response. When he began pacing forward towards the door, she lifted her head and glanced at his back.

"Where are you going?"

"I gotta go git Louise."

Pat remembered that Louise was the horse's name. The one Rem and Emma had brought along with them when they arrived in Pahrump.

"Go git yer stuff ready. We're headin' off immediately."

Once he was at the door, he paused to glance at the coat hangar to one side. There were no coats on it, but his cowboy hat was. Before leaving, he took it and set it atop his head, shifting it from one side to the other until it felt right.

* * *

><p>It had cost him an extra one hundred and fifty caps to get Louise out of where he had left her. The caretakers charged for the extra time that she had spent there, but by the time he was done purchasing other necessities from the town, such as water, food, and ammo, he felt rather comfortable about his budget nonetheless. Thankfully, he was a lightweight, and it didn't take much for him to get drunk.<p>

Standing outside the gates with Louise standing in front of him, he glanced up at her eyes and spoke to her, like he usually did, "Sorry girl, but Emma ain't comin' anywhere with us anymore."

The horse quasi neighed, as if on a cue. Rem didn't allow himself to consider that it was coincidence. Instead, he took it as though Louise could understand what he was saying. It was a habit that he had developed after the three years and some change that they had together.

"I know, I know, Louise. I'm gonna miss her, too."

His hand dragged up along the side of her face until it reached the area just under one of her eyes.

"Can she carry the both of us?"

His hand abandoned Louise's golden fur and he turned to glance at Pat, who was pacing through the gates of Eastside. She wasn't wearing her combat armor, which was what Rem initially noticed.

"Where's yer armor?"

The gates began closing behind her, and she shrugged her shoulders.

"It's Eastside property. They gave it to me when I accepted the work as an armed escort. Now that I'm not going to work with them anymore, they took it back."

After explaining, her chin tilted down and she took a glance at the clothes she was wearing. A mahogany button up with the sleeves torn at the shoulders, faded blue jeans and a pair of boots. They were torn in a few select places. Point was, it offered much, much less protection than her combat armor did.

"The armor rating for this shirt isn't all that great, but it covers me up, at least."

"That ain't good. We need to find yew some armor eventually."

"I'll be fine," she answered, waving her hand dismissively. To stress herself, she lifted her plasma rifle and showed it off, "This here should be all I need. I have lots of ammo," she added.

She was carrying a duffle bag with her, packed with stuff. It didn't look like it was too much, either, and in the end, he did manage to find some measure of advantage in all of this.

"Well, without the armor, we're light enough to travel on Louise. The two of us."

During the time that Louise had been with him, she'd spent most of her time carrying heavy loads over long distances, so she had been conditioned for this kind of thing. Still, she had her limits, and he knew how to handle them. It typically involved resting her in intervals.

"You . . . sure?"

Rem turned his attention to Pat again, sizing her up. Her eyebrows raised in question.

"Yew ain't much bigger than Emma, and yew sure as hell ain't wearin' as much armor as she usually did. We'll be fine."

He turned back to Louise when it hit him. Was she scared?

"Yew ain't scared, are ya?"

"I've never ridden a horse before."

"Yew ever rode a man before? Yew just . . . " he cut himself off, remembering what had happened to her back at Vicky's encampment. For a second, he thought his words might not sit well with her. In the end, she burst into laughter.

After chuckling for long enough, she retorted, "So you know all about riding men, huh?"

His face soured immediately.

"No! I been ridden though."

The young man would have had a lot more to say if he wasn't caught up thinking about how hardy a woman Pat was. He'd encountered a fair share of raped women in the past, and he didn't recall ever, ever seeing one laughing as heartily as Pat just did after such a short amount of time had passed since it happened.

Maybe . . . maybe she had been through worse. Or maybe it wasn't the first time it had happened to her.

"Right . . . " she let her voice trail off, instead turning towards Louise now. She paced closer until she was standing next to Rem.

"Awright well . . . I'ma mount, and I'll help yew up."

Before he did, he went through the process of explaining her the proper way of mounting a horse. He told her how she should use the stirrups and that to be careful not to kick the horse when she lifts her leg over. Once he helped her up, he was pleased to see that she followed his instructions. Her hands slipped around him, holding onto his abdomen afterwards.

He whistled twice and tapped Louise's sides with his heels. Without even needing spurs, the powerful animal began pacing forward. Pat gripped a little tighter and Rem cooed, "Relax."

"Easy for you to say."

"I ain't gonna git you dropped or anythang."

After that, she went silent, and after a while, she even began to enjoy the ride. It didn't take very long to get out of Pahrump on horseback. When they exited the city main and entered the outskirts, where the living establishments that were still standing had much, much more distance between them, she thought back on how long it had been since she had been in Pahrump.

_Two years, _she thought to herself.

"Hey, I've been meanin' to ask," he cut off her train of thought.

"Pat's short fer Patricia, right?"

She allowed a pause for effect, glancing ahead partially before she answered, "No. It's short for Pat."

Rem couldn't help but laugh under his breath, shaking his head.

* * *

><p>"And that's how yew start a fire and cook gecko," he said.<p>

The light shining from the crackling flames reflected off of Pat's eyes as she stared at the cooking gecko. She had watched Rem skin it, gut it, and even cut it up into pieces before skewering it all on a large iron needle of some kind. Now it was settled atop the fire, catching heat and being turned periodically by Rem, who was sitting beside it, paying it very close mind.

"Why not just use a match?"

Rem breathed out in disappointment.

"What if yew ain't got a damn match? Just gonna chatter yer crooked teeth through the night?"

She smiled widely at him, showing him the sorry state of her teeth. Some were missing, and they had even yellowed a little. Rem paused to notice it for a few moments, shaking his head.

"Yew got some nasty teeth, Pat."

"Who cares about teeth? I've never had time to worry about finding toothpaste and a toothbrush."

"Yew don't need toothpaste and toothbrushes. Yew know," he paused, glancing under the fire. There was already ash there. "Yew can use ash from a campfire to clean yer teeth. Yew just can't do it a lot cause it'll corrode 'em after a while. But yew can do it every now and then."

He turned the skewer and added again, "Or yew can use hydrogen peroxide. Jest don't swallow it. Yew make sure yew spit that out."

"So this is the kind of shit they teach you at Ranger Center?"

"Partly," he answered. "They also teach yew how to shoot, how to maintain yer weapons, tactics, servival, and some hygiene. They teach us to take care of our teeth as best we can. Everyone knows we'll prolly get some of 'em knocked out sooner or later, and there's no way we're gonna have them nice teeth that famous people used to have back in the pre war days, but that don't mean we can't try."

She leaned back against the rock she had chosen. By then, the night had crept up on them. The moon hung in the sky, accompanied by a legion of stars that shone brightly. Her eyes slowly trailed up to see them, her hands letting go of her plasma rifle and settling it atop her lap.

He caught her looking up and when he did, his eyes followed the same direction. They never left that brilliant canvas in the sky, at least not until he got an odd sense that he had done this before. His attention was turned back to the gecko while he thought about it, and then he finally remembered.

_Aurora Borealis. _

"The sky in Bear Lake is nicer."

"Where's that?"

"Alaska."

After he answered, she stopped looking at the sky and wondered if he had actually been all the way to Alaska.

"You've been to Alaska?"

"Sorta."

"You've either been there or you haven't. Or do you mean . . . you've seen pictures?"

"It's a long story."

Once again, her hands settled onto the plasma rifle and gripped, holding it at the ready. Holding weapons was like second nature to the denizens of the post war world. It was like carrying a cell phone in the pre war days.

"I've got time."

"I'll just give yew the short version."

He drew the needle out of the fire and set it atop a plate. To keep himself from burning the tips of his fingers, he used a rag. After that, he handed it to Pat and put another skewer over the fire. This one, presumably, was for him.

"I was at a town a few years back an' I met a girl there. She took me to a RobCo facility in the town. There was sentrybots there. Inactive, of course. Otherwise, we wouldn't have made it out alive."

The storytelling was somehow more engaging when it was being told against the backdrop of the crackling campfire.

"There was also a computer there. Big one. The staff there had uploaded games, videos, and environments into the system. Maggy said it was prolly to keep themselves from gettin' bored."

His lungs filled with air and as he released, he continued.

"They had these . . . integrators installed that let 'em give the computer commands without verbal input or physical input in general. It read your thoughts, I guess. When used with an environment or a game, it put you inside it. She called it virtual reality."

"Then you haven't actually been to Alaska."

"That's up to debate, Pat. It sure as hell felt real to me. If yew tried it out, yew'd prolly feel the same."

"You could always prove it to me. Let's go," she said, her tone adventurous.

The thought of going back to Brownsburough paused his entire body. His eyes stopped to stare into infinity. The pensive expression didn't go unnoticed.

"No," he said, returning to himself, "I gotta git to Ranger Center 'fore I go anywhere else."

She watched him, but even though she suspected that there may have been another reason for it entirely, she let it go and brought the iguana bits to her mouth and bit a piece off the skewer. After she chewed, she saw it tasted good.

"Mm, not bad."

"Right?" He answered as he took his skewer off the flame and sat back close to the fire with his back against the same rock that Pat was up against. It was still hot, so there was no way he was going to eat it just yet.

"So, Pat, how did you go on about growin' up?"

The way he had asked her the question was amusing. She smiled and shook her head.

"Uh . . . " she paused. "Same as everyone, I guess."

"Well, nobody's the same, Pat. I'm sure yew didn't grow up the way I did."

She chewed, and Rem turned to glance at her. After thinking about it long enough, he spoke, "If you ain't comfortable talkin' about it, that's fine."

"Yeah, that sounds good."

His eyes didn't leave her for a few moments. When they did, he concluded that whatever kind of rough life she had lived was the likeliest reason for how mentally tough she was.

The two of them continued to eat in front of the fire, keeping to themselves for the longest time, not saying a thing. Eventually, their minds each drifted elsewhere. Pat's went to the foreboding possibility that she was pregnant and Rem thought about Emma. It was still difficult to get used to it.

"Yew know," he began, garnering her interest. "It's so bad . . . the way people just up and die."

For the time being, Pat said nothing.

"And then the rest of us just move on with everythang . . . 'cause that's how the damn cycle is."

The last word hadn't even finished being uttered when he just dropped his food, seemingly out of frustration.

"The ones who try an' console us tell us that those dead people will always be there, so long as we think about them, and let their memories influence our decisions in the future. That or some other . . . ideological bullshit about how they're restin' in peace now, with God."

"That sounds depressing," she answered, with only half a heart. Truth was, it had been a long, long time since she had lost someone she genuinely cared about.

"By the time all this is over, dependin' on what yew an' I do, we might be the next ones fuelin' the cycle. We'll kick the damn bucket . . . 'cross the damn desert, and people will be tellin' the ones who loved us all this shit about how we're still there when we really ain't."

As Rem continued, he actually began to irritate her. She didn't hesitate to say.

"If you're going to be complaining, tossing all these reasons in about why everything out here is so bad, why don't you just kill yourself?"

Her answer stopped him clean in his tracks. He stopped to think about it deeply while she canted her head back and looked up to the sky. She was expecting him to explode on her, but when he began a slow, calm response, she was proven wrong.

"Shit Pat, that makes lotsa sense. I'm here, Emma ain't, and all this bitchin' I'm doin is fer nothin' unless I'm gonna kill myself over it. Right?"

Her head turned to him, and after her eyes flickered from one side to the other, she began to nod slowly, "Right. I guess you can be a little pissed off about it. People can grieve and all of that shit. But . . . not out loud. I hate it when people complain."

The two of them settled down again, pressed up against the rock. Then, Rem spoke again, "So, yew got any motivation other than just to live? Any goals?"

"Old age," she responded. Rem found it lacking in spirit.

"That don't sound too glamorous if yew ask me. Yew gotta shoot fer somethin' nicer."

"Like what? Nice house, nice clothes, husband, and children? Safety? That kind of stuff isn't possible nowadays."

"I know it ain't. It's hard to die of old age, and impossible to find a place where yew just live off the land or somethin' and provide fer yer family without worryin' about nothin' else. But that ain't all there is to be fulfilled, I think."

"What else is there?"

"As a Desert Ranger, I'm out to help however I can. I think that those little good things I've done in the past, like savin' yer ass, should be all I need to feel . . . happy, even if I end up dyin' in the line of duty."

"If that's what floats your boat, Rem."

"I guess . . . the final point I'm tryin' to reach here, Pat, is; what's gonna make yew happy through life?"

She paused for a while. "Little nights like these, when I get some food in my stomach and some safe sleep."

"That's bullshit. Yew had that every night back in Eastside. Why the hell'd yew leave then?"

No words came, and Rem pressed the subject.

"Yew seem like yer just movin' along, makin' ends meet and playin' it like that's all yew need. I'ma have to disagree on that. I don't wanna be just another wastelander scurryin' his way through life, stayin' alive and nothin' more."

"What the fuck makes you think you can judge me?"

After Pat responded, he was surprised. He didn't expect her to get so angry.

"I'm going to do whatever the hell I want with my life. If that's going to be just staying alive, then that's my choice. I don't give a fuck what you think. You can take your . . . ideological Desert Ranger bullshit somewhere else. I know my way."

"Woah, calm yer ass down. Stop bein' such priss."

Without a warning whatsoever, she turned her body to him and smacked him across the face with the back of her hand.

"What did you call me?"

Next, she pushed herself up and started punching at him. It took absolutely every pound of restraint inside of him to stop himself from returning the favor. Instead, his hands reached out and grasped hers, and then he used her momentum to turn her harshly enough to toss her onto the dirt face down. He placed himself on top of her afterwards, holding her down.

"Calm the fuck down, Pat! Fer bein' such a hardass, yew sure have some thin skin, yew know that?"

She stopped struggling and her eyes closed slowly. When she spoke again, she did so with a heavy, certain tone.

"Rem, if you don't get off me right now . . . "

"If I let yew go, will yew stop tryin' to hit me?"

"Get off of me!"

He took his hands off of her roughly. Once she was free, she slammed her palms against the dirt and pushed herself up to her feet, pacing away from him while he stood there, breathing heavily. There was one part of him that was ready to draw his pistol on her. After all, he didn't quite know Pat so well, even now.

When she was far away enough, he shook his head and sat himself next to the fire, rubbing his face.


	18. Lessons

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 5th 3:41 pm**

**2267 **

"How long it been since yew traveled this long?"

"Fuck," Pat answered, looking ahead while she tried to remember.

"How far have you been in general?"

"Never left the state."

Rem turned ahead again after her response. His right hand was trailing behind him, tugging along Louise's rope. It kept her following them along at a comfortable pace. She had been allowed to rest longer than usual.

"I been to a few places. Utah, Arizona, Oregon, California, and Idaho."

"Shit. I feel bad for Louise."

"Hah," he answered, "Well, some of them places I been to was before I ever even had Louise wit' me. 'Course, Louise may have already been to all dem places. She was ten years old when I got her. Who knows where she had been before."

Pat seemed to accept what he was saying without showing any signs that she did. She was more interested in knowing how much longer it was going to be before they arrived at their destination.

"How much further?"

"Just a few hours."

"You said a few hours a few hours ago."

"Well this time, I mean somethin' like . . . two hours or so, dependin' on our pace. I ain't in too much of a hurry at this point. We're pretty much there already," he turned his head to her and held his hand out, stressing his point.

* * *

><p>When distance was such a small factor that he was able to see Ranger Center's highest peak ahead, Rem was hit with a small tinge of dread, which was so different from the times he used to come back with his father. Back then, Ranger Center was an uplifting thing to see. He was starting to see that sweet things could become bitter with age.<p>

"There it is. Yew can see it there."

"I see it."

There was a point in time when every few steps they took revealed more of the base. To Pat, who had never laid eyes on it, it started to look as though it was expanding. Getting larger and larger in front of her. This was the first time she had seen it, and it looked like a fortress.

"It looks clean," she said, her eyes capturing more details. The fences surrounding the outside appeared sturdy. First, there was a concrete wall six feet tall rising from the ground around the center. From there, the wall turned into a heavy duty fence that added another fourteen feet, all around the center. Past the fence, there were a few tall towers, where snipers presumably watched the perimeter.

"That looks like . . . a nice place to live."

"Yup," responded Rem. "There ain't much to worry about in there."

"So why don't you live there?"

"I guess I ain't smart 'nough," he said, chuckling afterwards.

"Really?"

"Well, sorta, yeah. There's a complicated reason as to why we don't all just huddle up and sleep at Ranger Center. It would be too crowded, so some of us get sent out. The ones who are smart enough to keep the Center goin' and goin' well have a chance to stay."

She nodded her head slowly, and then her eyes wandered to the floor, drawn by something that was moving. A curious red dot.

"Stop!"

Rem turned his head to her calmly, "Relax. That's just their way of lettin' us know they see us."

Pat's hands had gripped the plasma rifle tightly. Her entire body had tensed, but Rem remained serene. He began reaching into one of the bags tied onto Louise and dug out Emma's helmet. He took a good look at it, regretting the fact that it was cracked, and then held it up. It stayed aloft for a few moments before he brought it down again, certain that they had seen what it was.

Shortly thereafter, he put it away and Pat watched him. The two of them went silent. Pat was wary, mostly, but Rem seemed to have other things in mind. Now that he was here, the weight of Emma's death seemed to return, as if he were carrying her dead body on one of his shoulders all of a sudden. He was going to have to explain how it happened, as these things usually went, and then a punishment would be issued. Unless . . . he said more than he was intending to say.

When they arrived, the large, sturdy front gate swung open very slowly and two men emerged from within. Both of them were in armor but without the helmet. They each seemed to carry themselves with some rigid form of authority. Rem didn't keep them waiting long.

"Apprentice Remington Peregrine reporting in, sir," his right hand raised to salute. Then, he continued, "This here is Pat," he motioned to his companion.

"Where's your commanding officer?"

"Dead, sir."

The one who was talking dipped his chin, offering up a stern nod of acknowledgment before he turned his eyes back to Pat.

"What about her? What's she going to do?"

"I was teachin' her. Dependin' on what happens here, she and I will part ways. We brought 'nough food fer the both of us."

"She know the drill?"

"Yes, I explained it to her 'fore we got here."

After answering, he slowly turned his eyes to Pat, who returned the glance for a few moments before she held out her plasma rifle. The man took it into hand while Pat began to kneel, setting the duffle bag on the ground and drawing out the extra microfusion cells she had been carrying for her weapon. After handing those over, she reached at her ankle and drew out a knife, handing it over as well.

"Is that it?"

Pat nodded, "Yeah. That's all of it."

He nodded, turning to the other man who had been standing behind him. "Private, search her bag."

Pat became immediately irritated, but the deep glance that Rem projected into her eyes kept her at ease. She watched the private look though her things and once nothing had been found, he stood and spoke, "Clean, sir."

"Lead them to their quarters."

"Yes sir," he answered, while the Sergeant turned away and left, carrying a bag full of Pat's weapons with him. As he went, she watched him with an unsettled glance and then turned to Rem, who motioned her to follow him. She did.

The front entrance that they went through had two ten foot walls lining the sides, with barbed wire at the top, meant to funnel an invading force through a small space if anybody was ever successful in invading the Center through the front. Upon exiting the artificial tunnel, her eyes were revealed to a large, spacious courtyard with odd obstacles placed throughout the area, a good distance away from the fences. Small walls, made out of concrete, that were tall enough to provide cover for defending forces. From there, they could also return fire.

The further they went, the more she realized just how much the Desert Rangers had gone through to turn this place into a highly defensible home. The courtyard beneath was flat and further up ahead, lining the walls of the center itself, were fortified balconies that provided cover as well. From there, snipers could support their fellow soldiers underneath. She had never been taught tactics but even she was able to see the advantages here.

Before long, and after Louise had been taken away by one of the Rangers, the thick double doors that led into the Center itself opened, letting the three of them inside. That was when they started to see more movement. People, none in armor, going on about their business. Pat turned to see as many of them as she could, and she found herself awestruck by the fact that they all looked so clean. Their clothes were in perfect condition. None of them seemed emaciated, and nobody had the eyes of a chem addict. She found herself wishing that she had been born here. This was the closest thing she had seen to paradise in the post war world.

"Hey, Rem!"

Rem's eyebrows raised, turning his head towards the source of the voice. When he saw who it was, the flash in his eyes made his excitement obvious.

"Damon!"

When the two of them were close enough, they grasped one another's forearms tightly, coming close and patting their backs assertively. When Pat turned her head to glance at them, she was able to tell that Damon was definitely older. He had black hair, green eyes, and was handsome. She started to realize that she hadn't seen anybody there who wasn't good looking. Yet. That only served to fuel the good impression that Ranger Center had already imposed upon her.

The two of them let go and stepped back from each other, smiling widely.

"What brings you here?"

Rem's face mellowed down suddenly. He turned his head away and reached up to his hat, shifting it from one side to the other as he responded, "Lost my commanding officer."

"Ah shit, Rem," Damon's face easily conveyed his sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me, too," Rem responded as his acquaintance crossed his arms over his chest.

"Good to see you're still alive though, and well."

After nodding a few times, Rem was glad to see that Damon pushed things along on his own.

"Go get some rest. I'm sure you need it."

Damon knew that this wasn't the only time Rem had lost a teacher. The first time it happened, he had lost his father. He figured that it must have felt like one brutal dose of bad luck that wasn't ending.

"Yeah, thanks," he answered. "We'll catch up later, awright?" he added, stepping forward along with Pat and the private who was leading them to their room.

"Sure thing," Damon answered, watching them go before he turned away and returned to his duties.

After they got there, Rem pushed the door open and turned to the private, "Thank yew, sir."

"Uh huh," he answered, before turning back and walking away.

He stepped in and Pat followed in, glancing around at the room they would be staying in. There were two beds in there, spaced away from each other, and a night stand between them. The ground wasn't rugged, but the design that the Rangers had crafted into the concrete made it seem upscale somehow. Beyond those beds, there was another area, where there was a sink and a refrigerator. When she saw the sink, she wondered . . .

Rem was in the middle of taking his things out of his bags out when he heard the water come on. Some of his belongings came out and he set them aside, and then Pat called out, "Don't fucking tell me . . . "

After stopping what he was doing, he turned his head and threw a glance at her, seeing her in front of the sink, letting water run through the openings between her fingers. There was also steam.

"You guys have hot water?"

"Yup, we do," he answered.

"Where's the shower? The toilet?"

"There are womens' facilities downstairs, where the showers are at. The toilets ain't far from there."

The only times she ever took a shower with hot water was when she took the time to start a fire and warm up the water. In Pahrump, they had running water, but not hot water. She found herself becoming excited to find out what it was like.

"Hey, Rem, they have it good here, you know. Why don't you try and see if you can stay?"

"That just ain't my idea of livin'. I've always wanted to be deployed, like my father was."

From the way he said it, she was immediately able to surmise that his father was dead. It begged the question of whether or not his mother was dead, too.

"Was your mother deployed, too?" She was satisfied with how subtly she had been able to ask her question. Hopefully, his response would shed light on what she was hoping to find out.

"Naw, she wasn't deployed. She stayed here at the Center 'til she passed away."

He ended up saying more than she thought he would. So, she turned to him and spoke, "Shit, sorry to hear that." She was going to leave it alone when she wondered how she had died. In a place as safe as this place seemed to be, it couldn't have been as a result of violence. Could it?

"Was she sick?"

Rem was stuffing his belongings, what little he had, into some drawers when he paused to think about her question.

"Yew can say that."

He seemed to leave it at that. She didn't think there would be a good way to pry without looking like a jackass after that. She didn't want to ruin this golden opportunity of hers, after all.

Once he was finished, she began unpacking, too, and that was when the question of what would happen next hit her.

"So, what's going to happen after this?"

"They'll be settin' up an appointment fer me. I'll be seein' one of the Colonels, I'll tell 'em how Emma died, and they'll decide what happens from there."

To her, it seemed simple enough, but the way Rem looked as he explained made it appear as though there was much more to it. After thinking about it, she figured it could have just been the grief of explaining how his teacher had died, who he said he loved. Indirectly, at least.

"Alright."

"Come on, I'll go show yew them facilities so yew can enjoy yer shower."

She didn't need to be told twice.

**Mojave Wasteland**

**September 6th 4:31 am**

**2067 **

That night, when he went to sleep, he simply couldn't. After tossing and turning for hours, sleeping through perplexing dreams, he eventually gave up and laid there on his back. The curtains that were hanging in front of the windows kept the moonshine out for the most part, but after his vision got used to the light level there, he was able to see the ceiling. He stared at it the entire time, thinking about what was going to happen the next morning.

He could already see himself stepping into that room to be faced by one of the Colonels, and his or her officers. The questions of how it happened would ensue, just like it did when he had to explain his father's death. As he thought about it, he found himself remembering it so, so clearly. He could even see what he looked like when he was fourteen. It felt impressive, but he quickly reminded himself that he wasn't four when it happened. It had only been three years since. Then, he thought back on his mother's face. She was sitting beside him when he told the story. He recalled that she tried to keep herself composed throughout the whole thing, but ended up stepping out before he could finish.

It felt like it had been a life time since then.

This time, he knew that it wasn't going to be exactly the same, however. First off, his mother wasn't there and second off, he wasn't a child anymore, who had miraculously made the trip all the way from Brownsburough to Ranger Center on horseback, surviving a Deathclaw attack along the way. Now he was an adult, and he would be treated more like a soldier than a kid, despite his status as an apprentice. Furthermore, this time, it was his fault entirely that his commanding officer was dead.

And he had no intentions of telling them why he had been angry enough to go off on a job without Emma.

* * *

><p>By the time Pat woke up, lifting her upper body and letting the sheets drip off her person, Rem was already up. He was sitting in his bed, messing around with his repeater.<p>

"Mornin'," he called.

She answered, still groggy, "Morning . . . "

He went back to what he was doing when there was a knock at the door. Immediately, he set the rifle down and stood up, stepping towards the door and opening it. A Desert Ranger was revealed on the other side. The same guy who had led them to their room.

"I just found out that you're that kid who made the trip back from Brownsburough three years back. By yourself."

"Yes, sir, that's me."

The man nodded his head a few times, "I know it's hard. I'm Private Horace."

"Apprentice Peregrine, sir," he reached out, and the two shook hands.

Pat watched the two of them at a distance, but could hear what they were saying.

"I lost a commanding officer when I was an apprentice, too. You have my sympathy."

"Thank yew, sir."

Horace paused for a few moments before bringing forth an envelope, "Here's your appointment. It's at noon."

"Thank yew, sir," Rem repeated, taking the envelope and saluting the private. As an apprentice, he even had to salute privates.

Horace turned away and began leaving as Rem closed the door. After turning from it and stepping towards his bed, Pat spoke, "Man . . . I wish you guys had the bathroom close by. I gotta go all the way downstairs to take a piss."

"The shower didn't make up fer this?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she began lifting herself off of bed while Rem began putting on his clothes. She could tell he had already showered.

"You're going now?"

"Yeah."

"How long is it going to be?"

"An hour or two. Depends on how many questions they got, and how long it takes 'em to decide what they're gonna do wit' me."

"Well, the longer it takes, the better. This place is paradise."

Before leaving the room, he put away his weapons in an iron locker in the room, and locked it. Pat watched him do it, and knew that he had done it because she was there. In some measure, she felt insulted, but digressed when she thought that this was probably just some procedure he had to follow to the word if her presence was going to be allowed.

"Yeah, enjoy it while it lasts."

She dropped back into bed while he paced to the door and stepped out.

* * *

><p>He was asked to wait in an office. There were lots of chairs there, but he was the only one there aside from the clerk at the desk. It looked like a generally uneventful day, so he expected to be put through without having to wait long. Still, the minutes managed to stretch out, and ten minutes felt like half an hour. A half hour felt like an hour, so on, so forth.<p>

"Peregrine," he heard. The woman at the desk tilted her head up, lifting her eyebrows and glancing in his direction until she had his attention. When she got it, she continued, "Colonel Boswel will see you."

Rem paused in disbelief.

_The same guy as before. _

It only took him one moment to forego the surprise and deduct that this likely wasn't coincidence. Colonel Boswel had probably heard about Rem coming in and had pushed through procedure to make sure his name was the one that came up for the appointment. Why? He didn't know.

"Awright. Thank yew, ma'am," he answered.

The door opened slowly and when he looked inside, the room was bright, lit by white lights. A few feet before the room ended, there was a large desk and a man was seated on the other side of it. An older man, with hair that had already begun to turn white. His face had also started to wrinkle.

"Peregrine," he called. If this had been any other time, he would have offered some platitude about how it was nice to see him, but the Colonel was seasoned enough to understand that the circumstances didn't call for it.

"Take a seat," he suggested.

Rem paced past the door, and past an armed Desert Ranger in full armor before he took a seat where the Colonel had asked him to.

"Let me start by saying that I'm deeply, deeply sorry to be seeing you in a similar predicament as three years ago."

When he heard that, Rem realized differences that he hadn't foreseen. When he was a kid, he just wasn't smart enough to understand that what the Colonel was saying sounded very good because of how many times he had done this. Now he did, and the words suddenly felt . . . emptier, even though a part of him was telling him not to be pessimistic.

"Thank yew, sir. I'm sorry, too."

The Colonel's eyes flickered at his choice of words. Had he not been experienced at this, he may have tried to console Rem by saying that he didn't need to be sorry about anything, but that, quite simply, may just not be true. It wasn't terribly unlikely that Rem's commanding officer was dead because of a mistake he had made.

"You're welcome," he said, before he began looking through some files on his desk.

"Emma Landon."

"Yes sir."

"She was thirty four years old. Was involved in a lot of operations. Looks like she had been through some bad situations, herself."

Rem barely blinked, but as the Colonel spoke, he could vaguely make out what he was referring to. Eventually, his head went into a gradual nod.

"She lost a teacher, too. Her brother."

Boswel nodded his head slowly, and then closed the files, turning his eyes to Rem's instead. His hands slowly came together, fingers intertwining before he began his immaculate speech, "Yes."

A pause ensued.

"Are you ready?"

The apprentice shifted in his seat and took a deep breath. As he released it, he answered, "Yes sir."

"Alright. Go ahead."

Before he had come here, he thought that the words would flow so easily, but it felt like something was stuck in his throat. He found himself looking from one side to the other, without moving his head at all, wondering how he should say it. Then, finally, it all became clear.

"It's my fault, sir."

The Colonel was good enough to keep his expression, and the sound of his voice, from conveying conviction in any shape or form.

"How is that? Take your time and explain as best you can."

"We went to Pahrump, but before we got there, we went into a nearby establishment 'bout two miles away from the outskirts of the town proper. It was in use, and we found human flesh in the refrigerator."

The Colonel's eyes never left him but, as a result of experience, there was something non intrusive about it. If it wasn't for the fact that Rem was planning on omitting some of the information of the things that happened, all of this wouldn't have made the experience any worse.

"We were gonna wait for the cannibals to come back but before we could, they got there and saw my horse sittin' outside."

As he continued, he thought back on all the details. His body didn't seem to move much anymore.

"We dispatched the two of 'em and spent the night waitin' to see if anybody else would come along. Nobody did, so the next mornin', we went to Pahrump. Eastside. We had no idea that we had been seen at some point throughout the night an' followed."

Boswel nodded his head after a while, knowing where Eastside was and recalling the details of being there. The reports said that they had armed escorts leading visitors into town.

Rem leaned inward finally, and after he had been still for a while, it looked as though he had been a statue and had started moving all of a sudden. Both of his elbows settled on the desk and his eyes left Boswel, sliding down to a paperweight, where they then stopped. This was when things became difficult, and partly, he became disappointed in himself that he hadn't made his decision yet, after having so much time to think.

"You okay?"

He nodded his head finally, holding his left hand up to dismiss the worry.

"Emma was wantin' to get drunk . . . I suppose," he began again. "She bought somethin' at the bar and took it upstairs. I stayed behind and had my drinks there."

The Colonel saw that something was different now as the apprentice continued. He was telling the story but his mind wasn't entirely there. It was somewhere else. He figured that it was apprehension, and perhaps fear of what the punishment would be. Little did he know.

"I had my drinks and talked the bartender up a bit. A girl nearby by the name of Vicky heard me say I was a Desert Ranger, and approached immediately, askin' me fer help."

His arms folded atop the desk.

"She mentioned that two of the armed escorts workin' fer Eastside, which turned out to be the ones that took us there in the first place, were killed, and that the same had happened to her brother and friend. She said she wanted 'em dead. I said we could definitely help her out, but I had to talk to my superior first."

At that point in time, he was hardly minding his words. It was surprising that he was even able to keep everything accurate.

"I went upstairs to see Emma . . . "

His heart raced. He knew that if he told Boswel about Emma's confession, then the death of a child killer could weigh a lot less heavily on him. It could, quite possibly, save him the trouble of even being punished. Or could it? He had made a mistake one way or another, and it was possible that he could be punished anyway.

In the end, that wasn't his primary concern. What stood out in his mind most vividly was that if he mentioned Emma's confession, she wouldn't be treated like the respectable Desert Ranger she was, and wouldn't be given her due service.

"And I found she was . . . drunk . . . "

Then his eyes finally lifted, knowing that he had made his decision.

"And asleep. She wasn't in any condition to head off on a mission."

Boswel nodded his head . . . and the rest of the story seemed to just slip by.

When it ended and Rem was seated deeply into his chair, he wasn't looking at the Colonel again. Boswel thought that it was because of guilt. Again, little did he know.

The two remained in silence for a while as the Colonel began writing things down on a piece of paper. When the scribbling finally ended, he clasped his hands together and bore into the apprentice's eyes again.

"You accept full responsibility?"

"Yes sir."

Rem was barely even halfway there anymore, but the Colonel's next words reeled him right back to reality.

"What did you learn from all of this?"

His next words came out fluidly.

"I don't even know where to start, sir."

"Start wherever. It doesn't matter."

"Awright," Rem responded, taking a breath and beginning, just as the Colonel had suggested. "I feel so guilty, but I realize that ain't the biggest concern."

"What's the biggest concern?"

"One hell of a Desert Ranger is dead 'cause of my stupid mistake. Bein' guilty and acceptin' responsibility for all o' this don't mean shit, 'cause she's gonna be dead either way. One of the biggest thangs the teachers here at Ranger Center stressed was the costliness of mistakes. Yew all try to make us understand the severity of it before we ever go through it first hand. Now I know why. I hate the fact that I'm gonna need a second chance to make thangs right, but I'm ready to do it anyway."

Both of his hands settled atop his thighs.

"Emma told me somethin' that made a lotta sense. She said that you ain't the perfect Desert Ranger when yer ready for anythang. You are when yew've learned to live wit' yerself and the mistakes yer gonna make as life goes on, and continue doin' yer job to the best of yer abilities."

"In this line of work, lots of mistakes will be made. I can see how that makes sense," Boswel commented.

"Yes sir. Another thang . . . when I was a kid, I used to be so excited to be a Desert Ranger. I wanted to be just like my father, goin' 'round doin' the right thing everywhere I step foot. Killin' bad people, savin' lives, teachin' people how to survive. Now I see that this all ain't some Grognak the barbarian comic book. This is gonna be hard, sir. This is one hell of a responsibility that anybody lookin' from the outside in couldn't possibly fathom. I'm gonna see friends die tryin' to do some good, and the world around us ain't gonna change much when they've given their lives for this. Names like Emma Landon will all be erased by time. Thangs aren't as glamorous as I initially believed, sir, but I still want this. I'm ready. Hopefully I do somethin' great so that if I ever have to die because someone else made a dumb mistake, I'll at least have somethin' to show fer all o' this."

Boswel thought about it for a while until he knew what he wanted to say.

"That's good."

It was a simple thing to say, but it meant a lot to Rem, because he felt some measure of sincerity in the Colonel's words.

"Moving on. Your mistake was that you should never, ever, head off on a mission by yourself when you're just an apprentice. Your superior died because she had to come save you. I'm sure you know the typical punishment for making mistakes like these."

"Yes sir, I do."

"I can do that or issue a martial punishment. The latter could delay how long it takes for you to earn your status as a Desert Ranger. It's - - "

"I'll take them lashings, sir."

The Colonel didn't take being interrupted seriously. This was an emotionally charged interview, and he wasn't about to punish the apprentice for exhibiting this kind of passion.

"Understood," he answered as his head tilted down. Scribbling ensued, and Rem just waited.

"Do you want the service before or after?"

"After, sir."

"Okay. You'll report for your lashings at eighteen hundred hours today. The service will be held three days from today."

"Thank yew, sir."

* * *

><p>Receiving punishments like these wasn't a public affair. The Rangers didn't drag the person out in the middle of the courtyard for everyone to see it happen.<p>

During the development years of Ranger Center, that had been a heavily frequented topic. Some believed that it would be beneficial for everyone in the Center to see the punishment delivered, so that the gravity of how severe making dumb choices could be easily understood. Others believed that some of the men and women who received the punishment were still good soldiers, and didn't deserve the humiliation.

After things changed and the punishment began being delivered behind closed doors, both sides found themselves pleased because no matter what, the population always found out about it. It was the perfect way to save a soldier the humiliation of having it done in front of everyone without losing that opportunity for others to see that punishments never stopped. They weren't expected to not make mistakes, but they were expected not to make stupid ones.

A loud, but muffled, grunt echoed through the room after the final lash had been given. Rem's back stung, and he could feel the blood trailing down the sleek trenches, which was what the wounds looked like.

The mouth piece that he had been given fell out from between his teeth and bounced on the floor a few times, and then the ropes that kept his arms extended and his back wide open loosened. His body tilted forth and the palms of his hands landed flat on the floor, keeping him from falling all the way down.

He could remember each crack of the whip in his head, and he didn't need to remember the pain because there was still a ghost of it left, feeling as though it had been burned onto his back.

"That's your ten licks, boy," he heard.

Slowly, he turned to look back over his shoulder, finding a Desert Ranger in full armor. The whip was coiled in his hands.

"You did good. Now get up and head outside. The doctor's waiting for you there."

Rem turned ahead again, closing his eyes tightly and giving himself a long few moments to gather up the strength he needed to stand. After doing so, he turned around and trudged away. His face was red and his eyes were watery.

The Desert Ranger's head followed him along as he paced towards the door.

"Your dad would have taken the licks, too."

The apprentice's gait ceased immediately and his head turned fluidly to face the masked Desert Ranger. The black mask tilted to such a subtle degree that it was almost as if it hadn't moved at all.

"What are you waiting for? Get your ass out of here. We'll talk later."

Rem turned forward and walked, opening the door and stepping into a hallway that was much, much brighter than the room he had just been in. He was in the middle of cursing how much it bothered his eyes when he felt a gloved hand grasping his wrist.

"Come along, now," the female voice uttered, gently. After his eyes focused on her countenance, he found a middle aged woman with a soft expression. Rem had to be stitched up many times before, and he recognized the ideal doctor when he saw her. She was so gentle that the knowledge of what would come next wasn't foreboding. At all. It felt more like she was going to take good care of him.

After a short walk, he found himself on a soft gurney, and all he could feel from the stitches closing up the wounds on his back was the pressure of it.

"Don't worry, Remington, yo - - "

"Rem, please."

"Oh . . . alright. Don't worry, Rem, the worst is behind you."

"Thank yew, ma'am," he answered.

Rem closed his eyes, trying his best to relax, glad that the pain had been numbed but even happier that he had gone through with this. He didn't know if the honor would have meant much to Emma, but he knew that he felt fulfilled doing this for her. He felt that he had done just enough to show how much he valued her.

_I know this feelin' . . . _

After he considered the thought for long enough, his eyes went into a slow close, remembering that this was what he had felt after thinking back on how he had accepted the responsibility of burying his father, himself. His mother, too.

A brief pang of guilt struck him, which was typical. It happened each time he thought about his parents. He hadn't gone to see his father since he had died and he could say the same about his mother.


	19. Unexpected

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 7th 9:07 am **

**2267 **

The sound of the door opening woke her. Pat shot up, her hand grasping for a gun that wasn't there before facing the doorway in defeat. After seeing Rem standing there, glancing in her direction with his blue eyes bright, she settled down.

"Fucking hell," she called, bringing her hand up and stroking her forehead. "I guess I'm not used to things being all safe and nice."

Rem stepped in, shuffling his feet. After she looked at him again, she noticed that there was some kind of drag in the way he walked, like he was being careful, or like he was hurt.

"What the hell happened to you?"

In response, all she got was a breath. The door had closed behind him and he had made his way to the bed, where he reluctantly followed doctor's orders and removed his shirt. It came up past his shoulders and was subsequently tossed aside to give his back the freedom that would help it. The slightly bloody gauze patches taped onto his back alarmed her.

"Holy shit. What happened to your back?"

Her shoulders tensed and her entire body seemed to straighten while he lowered onto the bed, gritting his teeth and breathing a sigh of relief once he had settled onto his stomach. The silence that followed began to irritate her.

"Hey, I know it hurts, but I'm sure you can still flap your mouth. Go on."

His head turned until he was looking at her. Pat was looking right back at him, her eyebrows raised, and with a dirty attitude about her altogether.

"It was my fault that Emma died back there. I had to pay fer it."

"Shit . . . " she said, in astonishment. "What did they do? Whip you?"

To answer her question, he just gently nodded his head. He looked tired.

"Damn. I . . . shit, the Desert Rangers don't fuck around."

"No, we don't, Pat."

"So what, you guys make mistakes and you get whipped? I'm sure that lots of you guys never come back just because of that."

"We can make mistakes, Pat, just not stupid ones. Mistakes where yew jus' up and leave without yer superior's consent and then yer superior dies havin' to save yew gets yew either whipped, or martial punishment. Whichever you like."

She didn't bother asking him why he hadn't taken the easy route. By then, she was starting to understand that Rem was invested and driven because of it. If he was willing to break his thumb to save her life, this just seemed like another thing he would do because of his strong sense of duty. While she had developed some measure of respect for because of it, she did occasionally consider him too idealistic. A little unrealistic.

"And of course, you took the whooping."

He didn't say anything after that.

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 9th 12:00 am**

**2267 **

"Brothers and sisters, we gather here today to pay our respects to one of our exceptional Desert Rangers who passed away in the line of duty."

Services for fallen deployed Desert Rangers weren't too frequent. After all, most of them were out in the wastes, usually by themselves or with foreign company. When they died, it was very rare when the people here at the Center found out about it. If they did, services like these would be held, and a good number of devoted soldiers would come to witness it, even if they had never met the deceased.

"Emma Landon earned her right to wear her armor at the age of twenty, and now, fourteen years later, she has earned the right to have her name embedded in the Archives of the Fallen."

As Boswel spoke, Rem listened, but his eyes wandered from one area to the next. They were in the eastern portion of the Center, where there were two large, stone walls twenty feet tall and five feet wide. There were scribblings on them, starting from the very top, in fine small letters, spanning the surface of it. All of them were names. One of them was no longer capable of supporting one hundred and twenty years worth of death, which was how long these two slabs had been in service. One of them had enough room for a few more, and that was where Emma would go.

"Each time I stand up here and I say what needs to be heard, I consider the history. Two hundred years of our friends and families dying in the line of duty. It's awfully easy to see it that way."

Pat was standing there, too. She wasn't the type to mind the fact that her clothes may have made her look out of place. She wasn't from here, but what mattered was that she cared to pay her thanks to Emma. Still, she found herself taking in the service. From the old man standing on a stone podium next to the Archives that was talking, to the men and women that were here just listening, to Rem, who stood there with his shoulders tense and strong.

It was so different from what she was used to.

"But we all know, because we have been taught, that the easy way of doing things is almost always the wrong way when death is involved."

None of the men she had served as an armed escort with in Eastside had ever been buried and honored with a speech like this. All she remembered was taking their armor, their weapons, and returning home with the bad news. The body was left where it was. As opposed to this, that started to seem so sub-human.

"What's hard to do is look upon the archives and think . . . one hundred and twenty years of performing their duties. One hundred and twenty years of saving lives, protecting the weak, and bringing smiles to people's faces. We weren't there to see it, but rest assured, Emma Landon made people smile with her service as a Desert Ranger. She made the weak feel like the world wasn't so bad after all."

Rem was able be sympathetic towards Boswel's choice of words. He remembered more than a few occasions when people sincerely thanked the two of them for putting their lives on the line.

"One hundred and twenty years of taking up the responsibility, of dying knowing that they had done so much good. Very few people aside from the Desert Rangers pass away with that opportunity to feel fulfilled with all of the good things we've done."

Boswel turned from one side of the group of people there to the other, looking into people's eyes. All the ones in armor had taken their helmets off.

"That is the correct way to look at the Archives."

Next, Boswel waved his right hand, motioning towards two men who had been standing nearby. They each grabbed hold of a tall ladder, one at each end, and carried it close to the Archives before setting it up against it. One man climbed up it while the other made sure the ladder wouldn't slip.

"That is the correct way to look at Emma Landon's name when you see it."

Finally, he settled his eyes on Rem's, and kept them there for a good long moments before he turned to watch the stone sculptor work. Everyone watched that, and didn't stop until it was finished.

After Emma's name had been etched into the Archives, the service continued. Rifle rounds were ejected into the sky with intermittent bangs, four of them at a time by men and women in full armor, and then it ended.

Now it was time to move on again, and wait until enough time had gone by before he could feel entirely proud about what he had done for Emma.

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 10th 12:00 am**

**2267 **

Now that the service was over with and now that his back was beginning to heal, it was time to consider the future. Rem found himself wondering when he would be called to the Colonel's office and told what the next step was. Pat spent most of her time enjoying the peace and tranquility of the place. She was even reading a book.

Slowly, he dragged his eyes in her direction and watched her. It took some time for him to see it, but her mouth opened and her eyes tightened, like she was struggling to pronounce the words. It hit him.

"Pat, yew can't read?"

His question snapped her out of her little zone and she turned to him.

"Not really."

Rem breathed out, surprised.

"Well, shit, yer gonna have to learn. I can teach yew."

The excitement that he displayed wasn't reciprocated. She only returned some apprehension.

"Do yew know yer alphabet?"

The apprehension turned into a guard. She found herself feeling insulted by the question and then angry that she couldn't say that she did.

"No, Rem," she responded, the irritation clear. She slammed the book shut and set it aside.

"Woah, relax, I wasn't tryin' to pick on yew. I'm tryin' to help."

"I don't need your help, alright?"

A sturdy sequence of knocks on the door broke the conversation between them. They each turned to look at it. While Rem dutifully stood from his bed, wincing in pain because his back stung, Pat called out, "Who is it?"

He gave her a narrow glance over his shoulder and held his hand up to her to calm her. Pat held her hands out, her expression making it look like she was wondering what she had done wrong.

The door opened and he saw a female in Desert Ranger armor without the head piece. Her black hair was cut short, with some of the tresses invading her forehead.

"Yes, ma'am?"

She held a piece of paper out and spoke, "Here's your next report."

"Thank yew," he answered, taking the paper and saluting.

"You're welcome, kid."

The kid part derailed him. The last time a woman had called him a kid was Emma, and he felt just as irritated about it now as he did back then. As she walked away from him, he glanced at her and digressed, closing the door and stepping back inside.

"Another ten lashings?"

Rem's eyebrows furrowed, "Yew have yer fun with that."

Pat chuckled under her breath a few times before moving on, "So what is it?"

"I'm guessin' it's time I found out what happens next."

Pat rose and stood next to him, trying to look at the paper in his hands. It didn't dawn on Rem for a while that she couldn't read.

"It says . . . " he began.

She retracted and punched him in the arm hard.

"Ow! I was only tryin' to help!"

As he returned to reading the paper, she dropped into bed again and folded her arms behind her head. She was minding her own business but upon noticing that he was standing in the same old place he had been before, she turned back to him. There was focus in his eyes.

"What? What's it say?"

"Somethin's up."

The vague response irritated her.

"Just spill the fucking beans. Stop being so dramatic."

The note he had been given wasn't instructing him to go to the fourth floor, where he could meet a Colonel. He was being sent to the fifth floor, because he had an appointment with President Muller.

Why on Earth would he have an appointment with the man in charge of the Desert Rangers?

"I'm supposed to go see . . . the President."

"Why? Does it say?"

"No. It don't. I guess I'm just gonna have to go an' find out."

* * *

><p>On his way up to the fifth floor, he had to go through security. The guards there made sure he didn't bring any arms inside. No explosives, either. In the long history of the Desert Rangers, many things had happened, and attempts on the President's life, by a Desert Ranger, was one of them. Since then, extra precautions had always been taken.<p>

Upon reaching the top, he glanced down a white hallway and found a thick pair of doors at the end. Two guards there stood at the ready, fully armored and armed, waiting for him to come close enough.

"Welcome, apprentice," one of them said before the two turned their sides to him, extending their palms towards the door and pushing them open. A big room was revealed inside with a long, ornate, wooden desk on which four people sat. President Muller was one of them.

He was a man in his early sixties, with hair that had gone entirely white, but there was something about him that belied his age. His eyes, the way he moved his hands with such certainty, and the way he carried his body made it very clear to see that he could still be counted on in a fire fight. The same could be said of his appointed council officials, though all of them seemed younger. Furthermore, each one of them was armed, and to either sides of their desks stood two armored Rangers.

Finally, to their left was a small podium on which Colonel Boswel was standing.

_What the hell's goin' on? _

Rem didn't stop walking until he was standing in the middle of a white circle a few feet ahead of the council and Muller. There, he spoke and saluted, "Apprentice Remington Peregrine reporting in, council."

"Welcome, son," President Muller began. "You have been called forth because Colonel Boswel believes you are ready to don the armor."

His heart sped up.

"You have scored high on your written survival exams, and on your written tactical exams. You are fully capable of maintaining our standard inventory of weapons, you are capable of making weapons if you are provided with the resources for it, and your medical skills are satisfactory. Furthermore, he believes that despite your recent shortcomings, you have displayed not only a growth in discipline, but also a resolute dedication to your work as a Desert Ranger. Such was displayed when you broke your thumb in hopes of helping another captive, when you neutralized Pat before she made your situation at the printing press any worse, and when you took the lashes."

_Hell . . . Boswel prolly didn't leave anythin' out. _

"Do you believe this is grounds for your promotion?"

Out of nowhere, Rem didn't feel easy anymore. He felt absolutely saddled by the question, but as he struggled to answer, Muller continued.

"I believe that you are too young, and all of this doesn't make up for the fact that you got your superior, which was a fine Desert Ranger might I add, killed."

There was a pause between everyone.

"Your father was a great Ranger, too, son."

After those last words, the reason as to why Rem's heart was beating quickly changed. At first, it had been because he was excited that he may have earned his armor. Now it was anger. His father's death wasn't his fault.

Muller's perceptive eyes watched as Rem gathered his fingers into tight fists. He watched as they trembled, and that was all it took for him to know that this young man in front of him was still just a kid. He could see every fiber in his being become distorted by the anger caused by his words. If that was enough to make him lose it, could he truly keep his cool while performing his duties?

Muller was so convinced that he wasn't going to approve when Rem's fists stopped trembling. His fingers opened up again, and Rem took in a breath, digressing. The change in his entire body was noticeable.

"If we need to sir, we can schedule another ten lashes."

The calm tone with which he spoke confronted the response that Muller was expecting to get in entirety.

"I ain't feelin' right about my mistakes yet anyway. Ten lashes was hell an' all, but Emma's still dead. I ain't gonna mention my father 'cause he wasn't my fault, an' I know that if he was standin' right here next to me, he'd give yew a dirty look fer what yew just said."

His hands settled into his pockets and the redness in his face dissipated.

"So let's do another ten, or whatever it's gonna take to make this right. Just know that it don't matter what you do, 'cause I'm gonna get that armor either now, or tomorrow. That's as certain as how the damn sun is gonna set sometime later today. I've said what I needed to say. Now make yer decision an' let's git on with it."

There was a slight pause when Rem decided to remember his manners.

"Sir."

Muller settled back into his chair, his eyes not leaving the subject of the trial. Awarding an apprentice with his armor wasn't typically his responsibility, but since the apprentice was only seventeen years old, this was _made _his business. The fact that it wouldn't be too long before Rem turned eighteen didn't factor into anything when Boswel brought it up, but this response that he'd gotten, the humility and the composure of it, did.

It was one in the many examples of composure that Rem had displayed. Another was after Emma had been killed by a rocket. Instead of chasing down Vicky, he stayed behind to save Pat's life.

Boswel stared into Muller's eye, and he was almost able to see the cogs turning inside his head as he perused every detail he had been fed. He found an inkling of satisfaction in being able to tell that his work was making an impact, and when Muller's next words came, it was the deepest satisfaction a cerebral man like him could experience, right up there with sex.

"I approve," said the President.

The other council members hadn't said a thing the entire time, but after what they had seen, they appeared to be convinced enough as well.

"I approve."

"I approve."

The last one took a few moments. Rem found himself staring at Muller the whole time anyway.

"I approve," it finally came.

Rem answered, and his eyes finally left the President, "Thank yew fer the honor, council. Yew won't regret it."

There was silence as everything seemed to be coming to a conclusion when the doors behind him exploded open. They crashed against the walls behind them, and everyone carried their eyes onto the person responsible.

After seeing the Desert Ranger armor, everyone felt a measure of relief, but it wasn't until everyone saw his face that there was total ease. Rem recognized who it was. Well, everyone in the room did. It was a deployed Colonel by the name of Thomas Watts. He was an African American in his early forties. Among Desert Rangers, he was a star. A veritable legend who could have turned out to be the next President if he hadn't elected to stay deployed. It had been years since Ranger Center had laid eyes on him.

If it wasn't for his greatness, he may have been shot a long time before he ever even reached this room.

"Watts, would you mind explaining what the hell this is about!"

Muller's voice echoed through the room, and out loud, it sounded a lot heavier than it did before.

"War," Watts answered, without screaming, but somehow mirroring Muller's heavy voice.

"This is about war, President Muller. Helpless civilians are being persecuted. Some are being enslaved, others nailed to crosses, others tortured, and most are killed. It's a damn blood bath in Arizona."

The council and Muller seemed to be gathered into Watts' words.

"By whom?"

The only woman in the council, Brigadier General Xavier, asked calmly.

"Caesar's Legion is cutting a swath through Arizona, leaving genocidal graveyards in their wake."

The name was familiar. This wasn't the first time that the name had been spoken on Ranger Center grounds. Before, however, it hadn't been as much a story as it looked like it was now.

"Them again?"

Watts turned his eyes to the councilman who asked, "No, sir. Not them again. They've conquered fifty six tribes, assimilated most of them, and have grown in both numbers and brutality since the last reports came in. They are no longer the mice they used to be."

Boswel stared at Watts and so did Rem.

Muller opened his mouth to speak when he remembered that the Colonel and Rem were still there, so instead, he held his hand up, "Peregrine, Boswel, please vacate the room. Your trial has been concluded. Guide Private Peregrine through the next process."

"Thank you, sir," Boswel answered, saluting the council and the President before turning and heading in Rem's direction. Rem turned with Boswel and followed, but glanced at Watts over his shoulder.

_Caesar's Legion?_

After the doors closed behind them, Boswel began talking about how he was to have to go and get fitted for armor, but he was barely even processing it. He found himself enthralled by what he had just heard.


	20. Direction and uncertainty

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 10th 3:09 pm **

**2267**

It was strange. Rem was excited that he was on his way to be fitted for his armor but he couldn't stop thinking about the things that Colonel Watts said. Maybe it was the idea that a hardy soldier like him was so convinced that an enemy was a threat that did it.

_If Colonel Watts thinks it's this bad . . . then them boys from Caesar's Legion must be tough. _

"Muller didn't let on that he had this much of a problem with you being so young."

Boswel's words snapped him out of his silent train of thought.

"But I guess I should have seen it coming. If he didn't have a problem with it, he wouldn't have insisted that the trial be taken all the way upstairs."

"What did yew think 'bout what Colonel Watts was sayin'?"

The whole way, Boswel had been staring forward at the path ahead of them as they walked, and it wasn't until then that he deviated and turned to glance at Rem. Now he was ascertained as to why he had been so distracted this whole time.

"Not really our business. At least not yet. Don't worry about that. You have other stuff to think about."

The moment that he was told to calm down, it was as if his veins caught fire, because it got his blood boiling. Truthfully, the whole idea of doing something about Caesar's Legion got him going. Especially now that he had earned his armor.

"You've earned your armor now. You've got responsibilities."

Rem realized that Muller wasn't the only one who had a problem with people being fitted for armor at such a young age. The guy taking his measurements also had a problem with it, because apparently, he was going to have to try his best to compensate for the growth that the newly appointed private would have in the upcoming years. While he figured it couldn't be a ridiculous amount, he could never really make a safe choice. He went with his gut instinct.

"If you grow too much, you'll be assed out."

"I ain't as worried about it as yew are. It'll be fine," Rem assured.

After his measurements had been taken, the next place Rem went to was Colonel Boswel's office again. It hit him, half way there, that this follow-up meeting was to provide him with his next assignment. Newly appointed privates weren't immediately deployed full scale. They were called to a meeting just like the one he was just about to go to and be told where he could go. Some place where he could help people, a town. Something. It didn't really matter, because Rem knew where he wanted to go.

After knocking and being told to enter, he pushed the door open and Boswel was waiting for him right there, on his desk with his fingers interwoven. His head was tilted down and his eyes were angled up in his direction.

"Welcome, Private Peregrine. Take a seat."

"Yes, sir," Rem answered, before doing as he was told.

"I have your first assignment."

Just as Boswel began rummaging through a pile of papers in front of him, Rem interrupted, "Uh, sir, I would appreciate it if yew sent me to where Colonel Watts is."

Boswel turned his eyes up at him. Rem saw a tinge of scorn there.

"With all due respect sir. I ain't tryin' to order myself around or anythang. I just think that I should be helpin' where thangs are most dire, and it looks like thangs are real bad up in Arizona."

"No."

It didn't take long for Rem to become irritated with the simple answer.

"You'll be headed - - "

"Why not?"

Boswel stopped talking immediately and he didn't need to say anything at all for Rem to know that he was pulling rank. With just that glance, he had been told to shut up before he gets charges of insubordination tossed in his direction.

The tense moments dwindled down and once everything was settled, like sand falling back into place after a gust of wind flutters it up into the air, Boswel continued looking through his papers.

"You'll be returning to Brownsburough."

Hearing that was the final straw. Rem felt himself boiling as his face reddened. It felt like steam was going to roll out through his nostrils as he turned his eyes away from the Colonel. Miraculously, or maybe as a result of the discipline that had convinced Boswel to put him up for his promotion, he didn't say anything.

Boswel could tell he didn't like it, but he took the silence as a sign of submission.

"There's a group of raiders there that are new to the Mojave. They call themselves the Great Khans. They've turned the place into a drug and slave hub. We need them gone and the people there need support. The reason you've been chosen is because you're familiar with the town. You met the people there. If some of them are still alive and around, you might be able to appeal to them with your identity and get some help out of them."

Rem thought about complaining that it had been a long time ago since he had been there, but he knew it was not a feasible excuse.

"If things seem difficult, there's a safehouse nearby where you may be able to radio in for help. All the information you need is here."

Boswel slid the papers forward and the disgruntled private took them.

"Any questions?"

"No, sir."

"Dismissed."

Rem raised and saluted before turning around and walking towards the door. His eyes were narrow, the disappointment in all of this vivid; same with the dread. Not only was he told he couldn't go where he wanted to go, but he was being asked to go back to a place that he had been running away from. He could have gone to Brownsburough with Emma, but he never brought it up. Now, there was nothing he could do about it.

As he opened the door he paused. Something in him mellowed down, and he turned around.

"Thank yew, sir. I appreciate everythang yew've done for me."

Boswel was sticking some of his belongings into the drawers of his desk when Rem thanked him.

"I was only doing my job."

Usually, the Rangers who train the apprentices decide when they can be promoted to privates, but seeing as how Rem had lost two, Boswel did what he thought was right and looked into Rem's growth on his own. After compiling all the information, he was able to make a great case as to why the young man could wear the armor. Lo and behold, he had gotten it right, because Rem hadn't failed Muller's test.

After Boswel's response, the private nodded just once, subtly, and turned ahead, walking out the door and closing it gently behind him.

* * *

><p>It had been hours since Rem left. Pat busied herself with one of the two books in the room, trying her best to read the words therein, and was satisfied with what she had accomplished. Now she knew what a rhinoceros was.<p>

_And I thought bighorners were bad. _

She closed the book and set it aside, turning her head towards the only opening in the room. It was a small, rectangular window with bars crisscrossing within it, off to her left. Each time she looked at it, the day was darker, and now it was night time.

The day had come and gone, and during it, she had never held a gun in her hand. She hadn't had even the slightest reason to feel caution in any shape or form throughout these twenty four hours. That translated into paradise during the first few days here, but now it was starting to make her uncomfortable. She was an animal out of its natural habitat, and every sound, every object here, pressed against a lifetime of philosophies and instincts taught to her by the world outside these walls.

Inwardly, she knew it was stupid to feel restless, to feel confined, because this was paradise, but one doesn't simply . . . erase life's teachings.

So far, there was only one animal that she knew could change from one thing to another completely, and that was the caterpillar. The caterpillar could go from living a life time with its belly on the floor to a majestic butterfly that made a home out of the air.

And she sure as hell wasn't a damn caterpillar.

Her restlessness eventually bade her to rise from the bed. She pushed herself up to the tips of her toes and stretched her legs. In unison, she expanded her arms and closed her eyes tightly, savoring the sensation of stretching out her body before suddenly, she dropped onto the flats of her feet again.

She stood in front of the window, looking out onto the courtyard and beyond.

She watched the night and the serenity of it. Nothing dared approach the walls of Ranger Center, even when the moon hung high in the sky, promising to make a Mojave predator appear all the more ominous under its light.

The wasteland had never looked so tame.

With no reason for it in particular, she turned away from the window and her eyes found the door.

The only reason she hadn't left yet was because Rem was the only one with a key to the room. No doubt, she had already thought about leaving it open, but she remembered seeing others still locking their doors before leaving their rooms.

_Probably just out of habit. I doubt anybody steals around here. _

Her feet led her to the door.

_And if they do, why the hell would they want __**my **__stuff? Nothing of value there. _

Now convinced, she stepped outside and looked around. She was relieved that nobody would be there to see her not lock the room. The door closed behind her and she began pacing out into the silent hallway.

On her way down the steps, she rounded a corner into the next flight and suddenly, she ran into Damon.

"Ah!"

In addition to her startled yell, fleeting as it was, she cocked her right arm and got ready to throw a punch.

"Hey! Hey!"

Damon held his hands up and alerted Pat of what was going on just in time to avoid being swung at. He could see her coming to her senses gradually, and it came to an end as her cocked arm eased down.

"Shit, I almost punched you right in the kisser."

"Sorry," he said, lowering his hands as well.

As she rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes, he thought about how living in constant caution outside could make you wary of lots of things, even in a place as safe as Ranger Center.

"It's fine. Habits. I probably won't be needing to punch anybody around here."

"You would be surprised. Ranger Center is safe but it isn't some kind of crime free haven. They tell us that caution, even here at Ranger Center, is safe, and that the reality of life isn't in here. It's out there."

That made all of the sense in the world to Pat.

"Of course, it's up to us to apply that truth. It's hard not to get complacent in here."

"Yeah."

"We have harsh training regiments and fitness criteria to follow, however, as an attempt to stay ready."

As Pat stood there, listening to what Damon was saying, she was drawn into the conversation and she leaned back onto the nearest wall. Her back pressed up against it, her arms folded under her breasts, and her right foot also lifted to press flatly against the wall for stability.

Damon subtly surveyed her thuggish posture as she responded.

"Wait, so you've never been outside before?"

"No, I have. It's a requirement for all of us to go out at some point. When we reach the requirements and are chosen to stay at Ranger Center, we don't go back out. For a while, or at all, unless a special opportunity arises."

"Shit, imagine that."

"You seem surprised."

"Well . . . " Pat began slowly, like she was considering her words. Not because she was worried to sound rude, but because she wanted to make sure she got it out right.

"I've never felt so safe. All today, I was more worried about how fucking bored I was instead of worrying about staying alive or where my next meal would come from. From my stand point, that's a total mind fuck. It feels like . . . like what you said earlier. Like all of this isn't the reality, but it's good, even if it takes a while getting used to."

Damon nodded a few times, and watched as her eyes tilted down, surveying what he had on him. He could see her eyes settling on the revolver on his hips longer than anything else.

"You guys wouldn't happen to have room for one more, would you?"

She could see the regret on his face as he began his response, "I'm afraid that's not how it works. If you want to stay at Ranger Center, you have to have something good to offer."

As her face soured, Damon knew he had said something wrong.

"I don't mean . . . you know, to insult - let me just give you an example. About a hundred and some years ago, a ghoul approached Ranger Center and offered a functional printing press, the expertise to keep it maintained, and a good source of ink for it. At the time, we were trying to figure out a way to reproduce the teachings of the Forefathers without having to scavenge for pens and spend all that ridiculous amount of time rewriting all of it onto something else. He provided it, so we provided him with a safe place to stay with the stipulation that he also train as a Desert Ranger."

A breath escaped her, understanding that she couldn't offer anything like that.

"Tough shit, right?"

Damon felt a pang of sympathy towards her.

"Anyway, my name's Damon," he extended his hand towards her.

"Pat," she responded.

"Nice to meet you. Would you like a tour?"

"Weren't you here to look for Rem?"

"Well, yeah, but I can always talk to him later. Is he there?"

"No, he had an appointment with the President."

Damon smiled, and then began laughing softly. The notion caused Pat to put her guard up.

"What?"

"Nothing," he answered, turning his eyes away from her and bringing them back with a mischievous grin.

She insisted with some intensity, "No, tell me. What did I say that was funny?"

"It's not you. It's Rem. If he has an appointment with the President, he shouldn't be telling anybody about it. Now I know, too."

Her face contorted immediately, vividly worried that she had made a huge mistake, "Fuck, he's not going to get another ten lashes, is he?"

Damon smiled again, staring at her. Then it hit her that she had probably said something else that she should have kept to herself.

Digressing, she spoke, "I'm not cut out for this."

"So how about that tour?"

She shrugged, glad he had diverted things, "I don't have anything better to do."

"The first floor is the most active one. We have have the manufacturing facilities here, where they make the weapons, the ammunition, the armor, the clothes, you name it. We still have to scavenge a few things, but we get along just right because of those facilities. The recreational area is also here, and the medical bay."

Pat followed along side Damon, looking in through some of the facility doors. At this time of day, most of it wasn't active, but there were still a few people there working on their weapons. Calibrating the sights, things like that.

It was the same in the clothing department. There, she learned what fabric en masse smelled like.

The place that took her most by surprise, however, was the recreational area. She followed Damon in after he pushed a pair of iron double doors open and opened her eyes to yet another testament of how great Ranger Center was.

There was a basketball court, and though she couldn't readily make sense of what the point of dribbling that odd, orange ball and trying to shoot it at the threaded basket was, she was awestruck by it.

"What are they doing?"

"Playing basketball. It's a sport that the people used to play in the pre war era."

Slowly, he turned his head to the other area, where a woman and her husband were playing an aggressive game of tennis, "That over there is what is called tennis."

She watched them, and approached. From where she was standing, she could only make a vague amount of sense from it, but it seemed . . . fun. At some point, the woman managed to strike the ball so fast, in a direction the male couldn't reach in time, and then pumped her fist in satisfaction.

Elsewhere, kids were playing catch with baseballs.

Looking at all of it, she wished she had been born here. Maybe her life wouldn't have been so bad. When she turned to look at Damon again, it was with some measure of envy.

"Looks like you guys have everything you could ever need."

"All thanks to the Forefathers," Damon responded, whipping his head to the side to watch the tennis ball bounce towards them. With an agile movement, he stepped into its way and swept it into his hand, tossing it back in the direction of the players before turning around to Pat again.

"Who are the Forefathers? You keep mentioning them."

"The Forefathers were the army engineers that started Ranger Center. First, they wrote books about military training and engineering, and once all of the most important stuff was done, they wrote about everything else that they could bring back to mind from the pre war world. Basketball, football, baseball, coloring books, music, deodorant, candles, phones . . . spaghetti, hamburgers, fries, pizza . . . "

"Alright, I get the point."

"All of their work translated into this," he motioned to the people who were playing sports. "And lots of other things."

The next place they went into, the med bay, offered something familiar. She had been in a doctor's facility before when she was younger. It belonged to a doctor from the Followers of the Apocalypse, and the same sterile scent was present there.

As Damon showed her around, an office door opened and a man stepped through. The clean white coat and khaki slacks were a vivid contrast to his decaying flesh, and his thin hair.

"Hello," his voice rung out, as if it was grinding against a rock on its way up his throat.

"Hey, Doctor Nash," Damon answered. "This is Pat."

The ghoul stopped, his hands slipping into the pockets of his blazer as he stood at attention, glancing down at Pat. He was tall.

"She's from the outside. I was just showing her around. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh, not at all," he answered. Then, he offered Pat a smile. She had never been smiled at by a ghoul.

"Hi," she managed to say.

Damon felt instantly at ease when the Doctor allowed what he was doing.

Pat, on the other hand, started to look around at the facility with interest. She remembered something.

"Doctor Nash?"

As she stepped forth, Damon turned his head to look at her. Nash just tilted his chin upwards, "Yes?"

"I have some medical questions I'd like to ask in private."

She still wasn't at ease with the possibility of being pregnant, and because of that, she was averted to the idea of Damon finding out. After all, he was a good looking man that she could see herself being interested in one day. If . . . her worst nightmare didn't come true.

"Sure," his gravelly voice answered. He took a glance at Damon, "Please, wait outside, Damon."

Damon nodded his head, "I'll be right outside."

When the two of them walked into a room, he motioned for her to take a seat, and after she did, he spoke, "What would you like to ask me?"

Now that she was here, it was a lot harder to say. At least until she came up with a way to avoid it.

"I've heard about how in the pre war era, they could tell if a person was pregnant before they ever showed belly."

"Are you late on your cycle?"

"It hasn't been that long."

Nash paused, thinking about it.

"How long ago did you do it?"

"About . . . twenty days or so. Not sure."

"You should wait to see if you miss your cycle. If it doesn't come, then you know for sure."

She inhaled and released, leaning in and twiddling her thumbs. As she did, Nash seemed to glance her over. He figured that pregnancy was could be worrisome for anybody.

"Okay. I have another question. Is there any way to . . . get rid of it?"

His arms lifted, crossing over his chest. The idea that she had sex and didn't want to live with the consequences bothered him, and he was glad that Ranger Center didn't condone things like that.

"I'm sorry. This isn't something Ranger Center condones."

He began turning around, walking towards the door when she called out to him again, "I got raped. Do you expect me to jump for joy or some shit?"

It had been so easy to say in the heat of the moment, but now that some seconds were going by, she felt the backlash of admitting something like that. It was a mix of embarrassment, and . . . like she had lost some value as a woman. Still, she tried to hide her pain under a veil of anger.

Nash stopped, turning around until he was looking at her again. It looked like he was having trouble deciding what to say. He wasn't sure if this was his jurisdiction anymore. For a second, he thought about redirecting her to a psychological therapist.

"How long will you be staying?"

"I don't know."

He seemed regretful, "Okay. Come on, follow me. We should be able to find out with a blood test. We can test for other problems, too."

Pat's eyes mellowed down and she stood up, pressing her hands against her knees as she did. Then, she followed him out of the room, scared of what all of this might bring.

* * *

><p>It had taken a few hours to come to an understanding of the path ahead of him. There was no doubt that his preference would have been to go help with whatever Colonel Watts was doing, but in the end, there were people in Brownsburough that needed help, and it just wasn't right to lack the enthusiasm to help them because of how eager he was to go be a hero.<p>

After realizing that, he spent a long time remembering the people there. He remembered each and every person he had any measure of interaction with, but the one that stood out most, and rightly so, was Maggy. He had to wonder what had come of her. Her mother, too. Then there was Michael, who had helped him out so much.

Were they all dead? Were they all enslaved?

The thought of any of those people in chains or discarded away in some corner, lifeless, lit a fire under him. His father didn't even come to mind.

Someone trying to open the door woke him from his trance. Then there was knocking, which reminded him that Pat had left the door unlocked. He had a problem with it at first, but had quickly let it go. He was excited to hear that she was back.

After he opened the door, he saw her standing there. Damon was standing beside her.

"Hey there, Pat. I got a surprise fer yew."

He stepped aside and held the door open for the two of them, "Hey Damon."

Damon smiled, "Hey there."

"Oh yeah?"

After she stepped inside, Rem closed the door and began pacing towards his drawer. From it, he took his kevlar vest and paced back to Pat, holding it out towards her.

"Fer you."

Her eyebrows raised, "What? You're not going to use it anymore?"

Damon watched on, curiously.

"Naw, I earned my armor."

While Pat looked puzzled, Damon's eyebrows were raised in surprise.

"Get out of here," Damon answered.

Rem looked positively excited as Pat took the vest.

"Yup. Boswel thought I was ready. Muller had to be convinced a lil but he came around to the idea."

"Shit, congratulations!"

Pat interjected, "You mean that armor everyone else is wearing? The one Emma wore? You're getting it?"

"Yeah. They fitted me for it today. I've been promoted to Private."

"Did you get your first assignment?"

Rem nodded his head. Pat's eyes lifted, interested in that last part. She saw that Rem didn't look like there were any bad news to be had, but she had to wonder if she was going to stick around with him or not.

"Oh yeah? What's going to happen?"

"We're goin' to a town that's been taken over by some group called the Great Khans. They want me to get rid of 'em if I can and help the people there. Yew can come with, if yew want."

She nodded her head a few times.

Damon added, "Sounds good. I'm sure you're excited."

"Well, I had other things in mind. They didn't let me go 'cause . . . you know how first assignments go."

After calmly conveying his understanding, Damon inquired further, "What did you have in mind?"

Rem looked uncertain, but then he figured that if Colonel Watts came into town, the whole Center must have known about it by now anyway.

"Yew know Colonel Watts is here, right?"

Damon nodded his head, "Yeah, I heard about that. He made quite a ruckus at the front gate and at the fifth floor. When he was asked what he was doing here by one of the other Colonels, he answered that he was looking for people who wear the armor and mean it when they do. Sounds like he's here about something big."

"Yeah. He barged in on my trial to talk to Muller about it."

If Pat hadn't mentioned that Rem had gone to see Muller, he would have expressed more surprise about it.

"Did you hear what he said?"

"Yew don't say shit to anyone else, awright? It was only me an' some others in there, so if this shit gets circulated, there ain't too many people who coulda done it."

Damon just gave him a nod. Rem trusted him.

"He said that there's a group called Caesar's Legion up in Arizona causin' all sortsa problems. He said that people and Desert Rangers are bein' killed, enslaved, and nailed on crosses. It must be a lot of 'em, too, 'cause he mentioned how they had conquered an' assimilated some fifty six tribes since they been around."

Pat and Damon both listened. Pat didn't know anything about Caesar's Legion, but Damon had heard the title before.

"Sounds bad," Damon answered. No later, there was knocking at the door. The three of them glanced in the direction of it before Rem stepped out from between everyone, opening the door and glancing at an unarmored Ranger on the other side.

"Corporal Daley, you're needed."

Rem turned to glance at Damon over his shoulder before stepping aside. The corporal figured that he had been found after someone mentioned that he had been seen with the outsider that Apprentice Peregrine had come into town with.

"Alright," he answered, stepping out before addressing Pat and Rem again, "I'll see you guys again before you leave, hopefully. If I don't, take care."

Pat waved her hand at him, and Rem just watched him go. Then, he closed the door and turned back to Pat. For the two of them, it had been a long, long day.


	21. Rem, the Desert Ranger

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 10th 9:40pm **

**2267 **

The moment Damon walked into the room, he knew what this was about. Just the sight of Colonel Watts' hardened eyes and rigid posture as he sat there, in front of a sturdy wooden desk was all it took for him to put it together. There was a woman beside him, too, who Damon was familiar with. She was probably helping him coordinate personnel for him to take back to Arizona. He could deduce that much from what Rem had told him.

"Corporal Daley, reporting for duty, sir," he said, saluting the colonel.

"At ease, corporal. Take a seat."

Damon paced forward and sat himself down on the chair across from Watts. There, he watched as he looked through some of the papers in front of him. Once he had gotten the information that he needed, it started.

"I understand that you're great at repairing machinery. You helped find and salvage some of the communications equipment we'll see in our safe houses. And you also help to keep the manufacturing facilities here at the Center going."

"Yes sir."

"You scored high on your last combat readiness exam, too. That makes you eligible for a mission that I'll be taking to Arizona. Have you heard of Caesar's Legion?"

"I've heard the name tossed around here at the Center. Early reports stated that they could pose a threat in the future. I'm guessing those reports were correct?"

Watts answered with enthusiasm that he clearly regretted, "Yes, they were. A little too correct for my liking. They've grown since the last time reports came in of them. They claim to have conquered fifty six tribes."

Damon understood the scope of such a statement.

"Any idea how many there are, exactly?"

Watts paused for a moment, staring into Damon's eyes like he was looking for something. Fear, perhaps.

"Hundreds. Close to a thousand, maybe, but there could be more out there that we don't know about."

At Ranger Center, there could only be around two hundred and fifty people at any given time. Furthermore, not even the Brotherhood had reached such high numbers in the area. The only faction he could remember that would rival the number was the NCR, which the Desert Rangers had made contact with in 2253. According to some of the troopers, they were an enormous republic back in California.

"And how many are they allowing you to bring?"

Watts could see where things were starting to sound bad, but it didn't flinch him. He leaned in, resting his elbows on the table as if he were trying to get a closer look at Damon's eyes.

"Not very many, Corporal. Is this a problem?"

It took a while for Damon to think about it.

"No, sir. I'm not afraid. I can't help but consider if whether or not the chances of success are hindered by the President's inability, or lack of desire, to provide you with more than what he has agreed to give you, however."

Watts enjoyed the answer enough to reward Damon with the answer he wanted.

"Twenty."

"Twenty?"

Watts simply nodded.

"The initial mission is much more simpler than you think. We're not rallying troops to charge their front lines. We're rallying a team that can best prepare communities in Arizona against the threat of Caesar's Legion."

Watts leaned back in his chair.

"We can't go to war with them directly. We just don't have the numbers for it."

Damon nodded slowly. It looked like he had an understanding of things, but the questions kept coming.

"How many communities?"

The colonel took a breath, glancing at the corporal with a different gleam in his eye. He thought there was more skepticism than he was interested in seeing at this point.

"Corporal, you might be pleased to learn that I'm only taking volunteers. If you feel you can't handle this, feel free to decline."

The pressure went up, and Damon thought that it was likely nobody had said no yet. He wasn't going to be the first either.

"Sign me up, Colonel."

Watts watched him with a little bit of doubt.

"You sure?"

"Positive, sir," Damon replied, with more certainty than before.

"Get your gear ready. You'll be called when it's time to go."

Damon stood up, placing the chair back where it's supposed to go and turned around. He pulled the door open and then something hit him, so he turned around and looked back at Watts. The colonel eventually returned the glance once he saw that the corporal hadn't left yet.

"Sir, would I be correct in assuming that you would like to take as many Rangers as you could?"

Watts seemed almost tired of the questions. Still, he entertained one last one.

"I would like to bring all of Ranger Center with me, corporal."

"Then there's something you may want to hear," he answered, turning around slowly to face the colonel.

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 11th 10:03 am**

**2267 **

"A, B, C, D, E . . . F, G, H, I, J . . . K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U . . . V, W, X, Y, and Z."

Though she had been tentative the whole way, she couldn't help but feel a tad accomplished by the time she was finished reciting her alphabet. The gladdened expression on Rem's face became infectious as the same smile crept across her countenance.

"Yew got it, Pat," he assured, scooting closer towards her as he held a paper in his hands. She leaned in and looked closely at what his finger was settled on.

"Now let's continue practicin' the pronunciation on all of 'em. Yew know A, I'm sure, and B, but I told yew that C can be pronounced like an S when it's next to yer front vowels and like a K when it's in front of yer back vowels."

"What are the vowels again?"

"A, E, I, O, U," he recited, writing them down on the paper they each were looking at. "O and U are yer back vowels. The others are yer front."

"Why did they have to make this shit so complicated? Why don't they use a K?"

"Hell if I know, Pat," he responded. "That's just how it is. I always wondered why nature made women so damn fussy. Ain't nothin' I can do about it."

"You think I'm fussy?"

"Naw, but yer not a girl, Pat," he responded, his lips forming into a mischievous smile. She turned her body and punched him in the arm.

"Ah!"

A knock at the door kept Pat from continuing her assault. Each of them turned to glance at it, but Rem, as per usual, was the first to stand and answer. Upon opening it, Damon was standing on the other side.

"Morning guys."

"Mornin' Damon."

Pat offered a wave of her hand.

"I have some good news for you, Rem."

"What yew got fer me?"

"Your first assignment has been changed."

Rem was just about to open his mouth and ask for clarification when Damon held the paper out to him. He reached to it and took it, stepping aside so that Damon could step in. As he closed the door and leaned up against it, he opened up the envelope and read through. Slowly but surely, a smile crept across his lips.

"Damon, how the hell did yew do this?"

"Colonel Watts has been assigned a team of twenty people to take back to Arizona."

"Just twenty?"

As he asked, his eyes lifted and a clear expression of concern appeared.

"Well, the mission over there involves supporting local communities by helping them keep themselves fed, armed, and ready to resist Caesar's Legion in any way possible. That's the same kind of work newly appointed privates get as their first assignment. Watts pulled some strings and acquired you for the mission after I told him that an apprentice had been recently promoted to private, and that he was traveling with a seasoned ex caravan guard that he's been teaching survival skills to whose firepower we can also use."

"Ex caravan guard, huh?"

Damon shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know what you did before you got here, but I'm sure you know your way around a gun. I thought that ex caravan guard sounded like a great indication of that."

Pat smirked, "Damn right I know my way around a gun."

While Rem definitely felt glad that he was getting what he wanted, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to his prior mission.

"What about my prior mission? Is anyone gonna handle it?"

Damon offered up an unconcerned glance, and then shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't know. What's it matter? You got the mission you wanted. I'll be coming with, by the way."

Rem lips curled into a crooked smile, "Good to know."

Pat cut in, calmly putting things into perspective, "So we're going to Arizona? To fight Caesar's Legion?" There was a calm, care free tone in her words, like fighting wasn't a hard thing to imagine for her, and rightly so. She had seen many bloody gun fights throughout her life.

"Yeah," answered Rem, turning his attention to her as he continued, "I know it prolly ain't what yew had in mind. I wouldn't blame yew if yew decided to go yer separate way from here."

Her response came without missing a beat.

"I don't have anything better to do, and I still owe you a month or two of watching your back." She waved her hand dismissively.

Her answer amused him.

"Well awright. It's settled."

* * *

><p>The next day, Colonel Watts had arranged a surprise for his soldiers, which had turned into twenty two in total with the addition of Rem and Pat. Each of them was called, in small groups, into the sparring section of the recreational center, where Desert Rangers were taught hand to hand combat and some grappling techniques. Rem found it odd that Pat was ordered to be there, too, but at the same time, he was glad. Damon was also in that group. The fourth was a blonde female in her early twenties.<p>

The four of them were wearing clothing that wouldn't hinder their movements, as per Watts' orders.

"Hello," Rem said, pacing along beside the blonde as they neared the sparring area. She turned her head to glance up at him. "Hey," she answered, halfheartedly.

"I'm Rem. It's nice meetin' you," he added, extending his hand to her. She returned the handshake and answered, "Sydney." Then, she turned ahead again. He could tell that she was focused on the task at hand. He thought that introducing himself was the right thing to do regardless of how focused they should be on what was ahead of them.

The four of them entered the area. There were punching bags hanging off the ceilings and matts spread throughout the floor.

"They brought us here to work up a sweat?"

The moment after Pat asked the question with that subtle hint of disdain in her voice, another person answered.

"You're here to bleed a little, too."

Four pairs of eyes settled on Colonel Watts afterwards. Beside him stood Major Dawson, a man of caucasian descent who worked there as an instructor.

"You're here because you all need to be told what you will be facing if you indeed are engaged by the enemy."

"How is it going to be any different from when raiders try to kill us?"

Damon turned his head to Pat immediately, giving her a gentle warning glance before he looked ahead again. Watts seemed undeterred.

"You aren't from here, from what I understand, but since you're going to lend yourself to our cause, I'll take it easy on you for speaking out of line."

Only a small pause ensued before he began.

"The Legionary is not a raider by any means. The Legionary does not spend almost the entire day lost in some chem induced fantasy land filled by Deathclaws in leotards. The Legionary spends the entire day readying himself for the next fight. He runs miles, and runs hard, unless he gets his jollies from being hacked to pieces by his comrades. What part of the day he doesn't spend running for his life, he spends sparring for his life with his fellow Legionaries."

Watts hands were behind his back. His posture was rigid and unmovable, just like the certainty behind each of his words.

"He does this because he knows that if he isn't strong, Caesar will discard him and put the meat to use by feeding it to the mongrels."

His eyes went from Rem and down the line, to Damon, Pat, and then Sydney. Then, he moved along.

"The Legionary is faster than you, stronger than you, tougher, and he prioritizes victory over survival. When a Legionary witnesses a comrade fall in action, he does not weep. He does not lose himself in anger, or thirst for vengeance. No, he envies, and hopes that perhaps one day, he might be blessed with the same end."

Upon stopping, his hands loosened and settled at his sides.

"The Legionary practices total war. He will hurt you physically and mentally, and if he takes you alive, he will nail you to a cross."

His eyes settled on Pat, and then they went to Sydney.

"You, he will enslave. He will take you back to his camp, strip you of your clothes and leave you in rags. Then he will put a collar on your neck and work you like a mule until there is no fight left in you."

The responses inside each of them was different. Pat wasn't afraid. She thought that they sounded just like all of the other predators she had encountered in the wasteland. Rem's eyes seemed to contort somewhat, like Watts' words had sparked some kind of scorn. Damon listened dutifully, and Sydney seemed thoughtful of the idea that these Legionaries would be looking to enslave her. Watts didn't exactly see what he wanted to see.

"But who am I fooling? I guess maybe myself. I could already see it in your faces. You four don't fully understand the gravity of what I'm saying. But I can't blame you. It can't all be as bad as it sounds, right? This is just . . . military theatrics to get some soldiers pumped up."

His voice seemed to soften up a bit, like there was less strength behind them and more sincerity than anything.

"Stuff like this you don't fully comprehend until you're standing right in front of it. Until you've felt the rage of seeing that pretty blonde that used to be in your squad with a collar around her neck," he glanced at Sydney and moved on, ". . . until you've seen that hard ass that saved your skin a few times nailed to a cross."

He shook his head.

"There are Desert Rangers waiting for us back in Arizona, and they know what I'm talking about. They're expecting me to make sure you know what it's like before you get there so you don't choke up at the wrong time and turn into a liability. Part of that's up to me, the rest is up to you. I'm sure as hell going to do my part, and I expect to get nothing short of the best from you."

There, the sermon ended. He seemed to have one hell of a way of putting things into perspective.

As he turned around, Rem spoke up, "Sure as hell, Colonel Watts."

His eyes drew back to them as the private turned to look at his left, where Sydney glanced back at him, "Right?" He turned back to Damon, and then Pat, "Right?" There was encouragement in the way he asked.

"Right," answered Damon. Sydney nodded her head, and Pat followed, reluctantly. Rem looked at Colonel Watts again, seemingly in conclusion.

"Yew sure as hell are gonna git the best from us, sir. We ain't gonna let yer words go to waste."

"Good," he answered. "That's what I like to hear."

After Rem nodded assertively, he stood at attention, and Watts moved things along.

"The reason why we're here is because I want everyone to experience some hand to hand sparring before we go. Legionaries like to get up close and personal, and when they do, things get very, very nasty for whoever they're after. To put things into perspective, if any one of you guys was about to have a boxing match against one of them, my caps would be on the table not in your favor."

His hand rose, motioning them to follow him. They did. As he paced on towards the mats, he turned back to them and motioned for Damon and Rem to step up. Rem's eyes perked up while Damon stepped ahead without putting too much thought into it.

"This will be a grappling and wrestling exercise. The next will be a sparring exercise. Then we'll talk about the melee weapons you each will be bringing."

As he stepped away, leaving the space open for the two of them, Rem glanced at Damon and held his hands out, "Yew ready?" Damon nodded with certainty, and lifted his hands as Rem did the same.

"First guy to put the other on his back ten times win the exercise."

The two of them stepped in with lithe, but conservative, strides. The two paused when they were at arm's reach but Rem feigned it, and only a moment after doing so, he snapped forward and lowered his upper body. It caught Damon entirely by surprise and before he knew it, Rem was tackling him to the floor. His back smacked against the mat and he knew that Rem had gone up 1-0.

"Nicely done," Major Dawson called out as they each stood back up.

Pat turned to Sydney, "Nothing like watching two men kick each other's ass, right?"

The blonde answered with a smirk, "We're next, you know."

Pat's eyebrows raised.

"They'll be saying the same thing about us."

"Huagh!"

When Pat turned to see, she only got a chance to see Rem's body off the ground for a single second before his back slammed against the mat with a thud. His eyes closed tightly, and he writhed.

Damon immediately asked, "Are you alright? Did they open up again?"

Rem shook his head.

"Naw. Watts ordered a stimpak application for me. They closed up pretty well by now."

People who took lashes typically weren't allowed the use of stimpaks because it made the punishment meek. Given the circumstances, however, Watts thought there needed to be an exception.

"Shit. Did he break your back?"

The private turned his eyes to the source of the voice; Pat.

"The hell are yew on about? The damn mat would break 'fore my back does."

"Next round, get it going," Major Dawson's voice ordered from the background.

The two stood again, and on it went. The next rounds were a lot longer, and closer than the first two. Rem and Damon battled for nearly twenty minutes, exhausted at some point, their mouths wide open and desperate for a breath of air, and by the time it was over, Damon came out the winner ten wins to seven. A few times, it almost looked like they were ready to come to punches. When it looked that way, Major Dawson was always there to moderate things.

Through the session, Pat had watched a whole slew of technical movements that she had never seen before. She watched Damon shoot for takedowns only to have them snuffed when Rem lowered onto his knees, and vice versa.

"Next two," Major Dawson ordered.

Sydney stepped ahead with certainty while Pat looked tentative.

Rem and Damon each dropped onto their rears on the sideline with a few bruises to show for what they had been through.

"Uh, I don't know how to do things the way Rem and Damon did," Pat said, glancing out at the Major. Dawson simply shrugged, "Just try to get her on her back as many times as you can."

She turned ahead again and nodded, "Alright, whatever you say." Her hands came up and Sydney did the same, readying her guard and stepping closer towards Pat. Pat looked more defensive than anything while Sydney began to strategically grab at her hands in an attempt to coerce the inexperienced outsider into doing something.

Over a period of time, it started to irritate her, and so she stepped forth to try to grab Sydney's hands with more aggression. The moment she did, Sydney shot forth the same way Rem did. Pat's mind didn't race. She didn't sift through a laundry list of possible defenses she could use. There was just one. And that was to lift her knee.

_Crack! _

"Oh!" As Rem yelled, Sydney saw her world going black.

When she woke up again, she was staring into a pair of blue eyes much like her own. Rem's eyesbrows were raised. "Sir, she's comin' around."

"Good," said Major Dawson, "Took her long enough."

While Sydney rubbed the side of her head, the memory of what had happened returned to her. Instantly, her eyebrows contorted and she started to look around, searching for Pat until she found her practicing with Major Dawson.

She sat and shot up to her feet.

"Woah, woah, take it easy, Sydney," Rem suggested.

"You better calm down some, Corporal," Dawson mentioned, fully able to see that Sydney was ready to rip Pat a new one.

"I'm calm, sir," she ascertained.

"Good. You'll be continuing your training with the private. Pat here needs some basic lessons."

Sydney didn't show it, but inwardly, she was seething. Especially now that Major Dawson was cutting out her opportunity to return that unsportsmanlike favor. When her eyes settled on Rem, he was glancing at her with his eyebrows raised. There was some concern there.

"Yew ain't gonna take it out on me, are ya?"

She sneered.

There was an enormous bruise on the left side of her face. He half wanted to point it out, but his more considerate side prevailed in keeping him from doing so.

"Okay, let's get started," she said, with more assertion than Rem would have liked to see.

"Well awright, just don't knee me in the face or anythang. I ain't Pat, k?"

"I'm over it, _private,_" she put special emphasis on his rank. "Now are you going to talk or get ready for the mission?"

"Just take it easy on me, ma'am. I'm just a private."

As he finished speaking, she stepped forth and lowered her body. Rem immediately responded by backpedaling from her, very light on his feet. She chased him aggressively until he stopped his momentum and drew her in by the arm, turning his body around and lowering down to toss her over his shoulder.

But before it could actually happen, she stuck one of her feet between his, using the curve of her ankle as a hook to anchor herself. In doing so, she pulled back with her imprisoned arm and was able to keep Rem from pulling hard enough to do what he was intending.

Next thing he knew, her other arm was wrapping around his neck and tightening.

Before long, his knees straightened and in unison, he pulled at her arm, this time doing so sideways to pull her around him instead of over him. He succeeded in doing what he wanted, but she countered, sticking her foot in between his again and tripping him. Rem hit the floor hard on his stomach, and Sydney finished the chokehold by applying her other hand along with it.

Rem tapped her arm, and she let go.

As soon as she did, he called out, "Yer lucky we wasn't really fightin'. I wudda broke yer arm over my shoulder."

"Uh-huh, those Legionaries aren't going to care about your excuses when they put you to sleep and drag you off to nail you on a cross."

"Round two," Rem stated as he stood up. His eyes were narrowed.

The session lasted a total of three hours. All four of them were sore by the time it was over. Pat had been tossed around by Major Dawson like . . . she was a salad, according to Damon.

A few times, Sydney tried to avoid being dropped to the floor by grasping on Rem's neck. As a result, she had left him with a few scratches. Damon had been on the receiving end of Pat's learning process. When the Major taught her something, she practived on Damon.

By the time they stepped out, Pat and Damon were talking about everything and Sydney, as per usual, was her focused self. No matter what Rem said to her, she didn't comment more than she needed. She ended up branching away from the others very quickly, offering nothing more than a, "Take care, guys," as she departed.

Damon tilted his head up, "Not too social, is she?"

Pat chimed in, "She's just mad I knocked her ass out."

Rem smiled, "Naw, she's just focused. Determined. She's the no room for screwin' around kinda girl. Ain't nothin' wrong with that."

The next two days, the same routine was repeated, with the training becoming lighter and lighter. They wanted to avoid injury, of course. As it turned out, the only thing that was keeping them from leaving was the fabrication of Rem's suit.

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 13th 10:01 pm**

**2267**

The weight of the armor settled over his shoulders and when it did, his hands lifted, fingers trailing along the hard ceramic plates covering his torso now. Upon canting his eyes downward, he followed the brown camouflage patterns painted onto it.

"How's it feel?" The same man who had fitted him for the armor was there now, helping Rem put it on and teaching him things about it. From their exchanges, he was able to tell that the private hadn't forgotten everything about the classes he had taken on the armor when he was younger.

Rem stood up and stretched out his arms, walked, and turned around a few times to get a feel of it. After that, he swung his arms around more thoroughly and was surprised with how free the range of motion was.

"Feels good. Feels great, actually," he responded.

The armor offered up a good amount of protection over the shoulders without messing with how well he could move his arms. At least until he tried to push them straight up.

"Takes work to hold my arms up like this, but unless them Caesar's Legion boys can fly aroun' like birds, it ain't gonna be a problem."

The tailor laughed under his breath.

"Let's see how it feels with the duster on."

Upon turning around, the tailor already had the brown duster across his outstretched hands.

"Thank yew," Rem said as he took it and turned around, slipping his arms through the sleeves and straightening it out on his shoulders.

The duster looked more cumbersome than it actually was, and just when he lifted his arms to see how the sleeves hung over his hands uncomfortably, the tailor stepped forth, holding out some leather gauntlets as his calm, husky voice rumbled out, "These help."

Rem took them and began putting them on, tying the straps around his forearms, glad to see the problem go away just like that.

Afterwards, he was offered a pair of gloves with metal plates attached to the backhands. Rem took them and, as if he already knew what he was going to do before hand, grabbed a pair of scissors in the room and cut the fingers off of them.

The tailor watched as he put them on afterwards.

"Feels much better like this," Rem claimed, wiggling his fingers and turning to glance at the final piece. The helmet was sitting atop a surface, untainted and sleek. As he stepped towards it, a soft gleam crossed the green visors, and then he took it into his hands.

As he held it in front of him, he stared into them. Inwardly, he still couldn't believe this was happening.

In silence, he turned the helmet around and placed it over his head, pushing it down and hearing it click into place. The first thing he tried to do was get used to what things looked like from inside, and then measured how much the helmet cut down on his peripheral vision.

_Only a lil. Guess I gotta be more careful when I'm out there. _

"Fit right?"

Rem turned around to look at the tailor as he answered. In doing so, he found that the motion of turning his head was as sleek as he needed it to be.

"It feels like I shoulda been born wearin' this thang."


	22. The bottle

**Mojave Wasteland**

**September 14th 12:00 am**

**2267**

Nobody had anticipated that they would be leaving at this time of night. It really wasn't a problem, however, given that most of the Desert Rangers that had been gathered for the cause in Arizona was equipped with low-light vision, but it did go to show just how eager Colonel Watts had been to leave. Everyone was surprised that he had even taken this long, but then again, he did put them all through those hand to hand drills that left them all more prepared than they would have been without it. If you were optimistic, at least.

There were many different aspects to the mission that Colonel Watts had explained to them over the past two days, and it showed. Rem wasn't used to carrying something like the machete he was given, and neither was Damon. Pat seemed to love it, though she was very enthusiastic about claiming that she would never need it. She brandished her plasma rifle each time she did.

At the same time, Pat was surprised to see that she wasn't the only one who wasn't wearing the full Desert Ranger armor in her quote unquote squad. Damon wasn't wearing one either, and the reason was simple. When he was promoted to private, he decided to acquire a weapon instead, and the decision left him equipped with a weapon that struck fear when it was seen on the battlefield. A minigun, and lots, and lots of ammo for it. Luckily for him, Louise was there to help him with his burden.

To make up for his lack of armor, he picked up sheets of sturdy metal while scavenging that he had shaped to fit his torso, and some that also fit his legs and arms. Most of it was barely visible under the clothes that he wore, but the one on his chest, which had been coated with dark paint to keep it from reflecting sunlight, did. His blazer did little to change that.

Sydney was there, too, and she had been given a fire axe as her melee weapon. Her main, however, was a sleek sniper rifle, the kind that the tower guards used to keep the perimeter all around Ranger Center safe and under scrutiny. That, and a .357 magnum. She reminded Rem of Emma in some ways.

The twenty two soldiers that were going to Arizona had been split into four groups. One of ten, and three of four. The largest group, led by Colonel Watts himself, was headed for Yuma, where the largest community that the Desert Rangers were interested in preparing was settled. Damon's group, which included Rem, Pat, and Sydney, was headed for Littlefield, where a small community of people were protected and aided by four Desert Rangers. Another was headed for Holbrook, with the last one headed for Surprise.

They all had been instructed to keep the violence to a minimum on their way there, so as to avoid attracting attention. Furthermore, each of the four groups would be taking varying routes to their destinations, all for the same reason. To avoid attracting attention. The Legion, from what Colonel Watts had told them, was very aware of the Desert Rangers at this point, and their attempts at distorting their influence throughout Arizona.

The Colonel gathered all of them together just outside Ranger Center's exit. Once he was sure he had everyone's attention, he began.

"Most men and women would turn and walk the opposite direction of where life is less than merciful. Not us. We readily walk in the direction of where people are oppressed, of where we may die young," his eyes settled on Rem, standing next to Louise. If it hadn't been for the horse, he wouldn't have been able to tell who he was looking at.

"You all knew that this was volunteer work, yet none of you said no. Why? Because our upbringing, our training, and the ideals given unto us by the Forefathers has awarded us a sense of duty in the face of tyranny unlike any other. The possibility of death glances off our armor, like just another bullet, and we forge ahead with little care for pain. This is who we are. Each of us can see it, and feel it deep within our bones.

He paused, as if coming to a realization, "No, deeper. In our souls."

"Yes, we know. We all know, but there are people in Arizona yet who do not. People in Caesar's Legion who do not. Let us go and show them who we are! That's an order!"

Everyone yelled in unison and threw a fist into the air, "Yes, sir!"

Weth that, the groups began walking their separate ways. Some of them stuck together for an hour or two before branching away, and it didn't take very long for the distance to swallow them, making them no longer visible to the tower guards of Ranger Center.

There hadn't been much fuss about their departure, but surely, the understanding that a war was on the horizon gradually settled. Muller knew it, his council knew it, and the rest of the Rangers would soon know it, too.

And it was different from the war they waged on the White Legs, the numerous bands of Raiders over the past, and the remnants of those blood thirsty super mutants that had wandered in from California years ago.

This one would push them to the brink.

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 14th 9:13 am**

**2267 **

"Say, Damon, how come yew never mentioned yew had such a sweetheart waitin' fer yew every time yew came to see us?"

Damon raised an eyebrow and turned his head, aligning his eyes with Rem's masked countenance. For a moment, he appeared confused, but then the private motioned at his minigun with the barrel of his repeater as he led Louise along.

"Oh, _that_ sweetheart," Damon responded, trying his best to hide a smirk. "She and I have a very respectful relationship going on. She means a lot to me, so I don't go around bragging about her like she's some trophy wife."

Pat smirked, "Some of us don't mind being bragged about. Some of us like it."

"Are yew insinuatin' yew want Damon to brag about ya, Pat?"

"What does insinuating mean?"

All three of the Desert Rangers turned to some degree. Rem and Damon each turned their heads to Pat entirely while Sydney's head barely altered its angle. From her point of view, she had been paired with a rather unsavory group. Pat was an uneducated outsider whose only skill, clearly, was to squeeze the trigger. Damon, she was neutral towards, and Rem, at the moment, was highest on the shit list, and Rem already suspected why. She had been even less talkative than she had been since their squad had been given some very informal procedures to follow.

"It means . . . " Damon began, "Implying. Yeah, implying."

"Why the fuck didn't he just use that word?"

Rem shrugged his shoulders, "Same reason why Sydney's the strong silent type. That's just how thangs unfold."

"Well," Sydney responded immediately, "I'm glad to know you've got an answer for some things."

"I've got an answer for lotsa thangs. Yew just ask."

A plethora of things crossed her mind just then. None of them would have been real courteous questions.

"Why don't you act like you've actually earned the armor?"

Rem's eyes narrowed under the helmet.

"I ain't gonna bother wastin' my breath on that one. Just wait 'til shit hits the fan, Corporal. That's an order."

Sydney's blood boiled the moment she heard that. The reason why she was so angry with him was because their group had been given special orders to treat him as though he was next along in the chain of command, right behind Damon, based on the fact that he had more experience than either she, or Damon. Hell, they had come close to making him squad leader altogether.

She turned around but before anything could go off, Damon turned his head to them, "I'm still alive, Rem. So you both still answer to me, and I order the both of you to stand down."

From Pat's point of view, Damon was full of surprises. Pleasant ones. The first day she met him, she thought he could be little more than a pencil pusher. A handsome, pencil pusher. But since then, she had watched him beat Rem in a wrestling contest, brandish a minigun, and then exercise his authority without hesitation.

"Yes, sir," answered Rem and Sydney, almost in unison.

Their pacing continued, and as Damon turned to face forward again, he found a smile on Pat's lips. An encouraging smile that, though he noted, he didn't let it get to his head.

He was relieved, however, at the thought that the situation between Rem and Sydney would be resolved the moment they reached Littlefield. All four of the Rangers there outranked them all, and all of them were hardened, deployed Desert Rangers.

The thought of that settled wrong. He never liked the idea that deployed Rangers were always perceived to be more prepared than ones who stayed at Ranger Center. If that was going to be the case, why bother with those grueling training regimens that were meant to keep them strong and as ready as they needed to be for when they took a step outside?

Furthermore, it wasn't as if he and Sydney hadn't seen _any _action. He had been outside before, and so had she. He had killed three raiders before, and didn't doubt that Sydney had tallied some kills, herself.

All of these thoughts ultimately birthed a sense of urgency in him, like he was prepared to show them that he was ready. Then, he turned and glanced back at Rem, who returned the gaze through those green visors.

"So, Private, you've seen a lot of action outside of Ranger Center, right?"

All three of them could hear Rem releasing a breath at the question underneath the helmet.

"Yes, sir. A lil too much, if yew ask me."

Damon and Sydney found his answer odd. The last days that they had spent with him, he had painted himself out to be full of energy. Ready to get into the action, but his answer belied that entirely. It begged the question.

"Are you tired?"

Rem continued pacing along, mulling the question over, understanding that Damon wasn't asking if he wanted to stop and take a rest from their trek. He was asking if he was interested in taking a rest from his duty.

"Naw, I'm _ready_."

Pat understood why he said he had seen too much. She was there when Emma was killed, and she was also there when his grief turned Vicky into a pathetic excuse for a corpse. That kind of stuff can make any person tired. In fact, she remembered a time, long ago, when _she_ felt . . . tired, too.

Sydney wasn't ready to give him anything just yet, and Damon found the answer less than satisfying. He thought that it was something a deployed Ranger would say just to distinguish himself from fellow soldiers who hadn't seen as much action.

All the while, Rem was just lost in the thoughts that the question had evoked.

Rem had made mistakes in the past, and while the others, with the exception of Pat, were here to make their marks in the line of duty, he already had, and was already on his second way around in hopes of repairing the unintelligible, poor excuse of one that he had made the last time he was faced with a difficult situation.

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 21st 4:03 pm **

**2267 **

There was nothing like a long walk to put the Great War into perspective.

The deserted towns, the cracked asphalt roads weaving through them, and the broken buildings that lay in piles of rubble within them did a great job of that. Many of these places had been beautiful cities and towns once upon a time, filled with people of a different kind. Cars sped through the streets. Fast food chains sold cheeseburgers with fries, super markets sold groceries, and the list went on.

And now, it was all gone. All that was left behind was this destruction, this utter lifelessness that could last for days at a time before something still alive comes through to knock you out of the trance it can put you into. Geckos, sometimes radscorpions, and very rarely, wastelanders.

Damon could tell how different it would be without company out there.

"I smell water," Rem called out.

Pat turned her head, "Me, too. How can you smell anything with that thing on?"

"The air filtration system is optional. When it's activated," he turned his head so she could see, ". . . the flaps are closed."

As she stared closely, she could see the openings in the air filters attached to the helmet.

"When it ain't, they're open. Anyway," he turned his head to Damon, "We're gettin' close to the Virgin River, sir. Close to Bunkerville, too."

Damon nodded, "Yep. You've been?"

"I went by once, wit' my father. The huntin's good in the river."

Both Pat and Damon spoke at the same time, "Lakelurk?"

Rem smiled under the helmet, "Yup."

"I've never tried Lakelurk," Pat said. "Neither have I," Damon added.

"How do you get them, anyway?"

Rem began, "Ah well, it's easy. I just put a knife 'tween my teeth and dive right in after 'em."

"Bullshit," Pat answered.

Rem burst into laughter.

"Naw, naw, I'm just kiddin'. Yew never wanna be in the water with those damn thangs. I've been told stories."

"Oh yeah? Like what?" Pat seemed to be asking most of the questions.

"Well, yew know how they can send them sonic waves at yew from a good distance?"

Pat nodded her head, "Yeah."

"Well, in water, sound is amplified. Outside o' water, the damn sound can rupture yer eardrums and knock yew unconscious. Under there, the sonic screechin' can rupture the skin."

"Do you believe everything you're told?"

Sydney's somber tone cut a swath right through their conversation, distinguishing itself so easily because she rarely said anything at all.

"Yew believe in the trainin' yew been told, right?"

"That's different."

"So you're sayin' that if a wastelander, one who has been places you ain't ever been, warns you about somethin', yer gonna ignore it?"

"Certain things sound believable. Others just don't."

"So that means yew don't mind goin' underwater after Lakelurks?"

"I wouldn't go in the water to hunt Lakelurks because they are much better swimmers than I am, and I'm sure that their sonic screeches would hurt nonetheless. I just doubt they'll tear my skin."

Under the helmet, Rem's eyes narrowed in irritation. He knew that she was being a contrarian because it was him who was talking, but it was starting to grind away his patience nonetheless.

"Well awright."

"Point is, Lakelurks will make short work of us underwater," Damon simplified. "Whether their sonic screeching can rip open wounds or not."

"Sounds about right, sir," Rem answered. "I was gonna suggest we camp near Bunkerville so I can go hunt Lakelurks. We ain't seen too many geckos and at this rate, we'll run outta food."

"Sounds good to me. I wanted to get a look at the Virgin River anyway."

"If that's the case, then we can go to the river now and follow it all the way up to Bunkerville, sir. That way, maybe we can find a Lakelurk on our way there. It'll save time."

Damon nodded his head, "That's what we'll do."

From where they were, it didn't take them long to come up on the Virgin River. Damon was holding a map that he had been given by Ranger Center, and he could see on there that the river broke a ways from where they were, but continued further ahead, and eventually led them to Bunkerville.

Sydney stopped up close to the water, and watched it stream by. So did Rem, and Pat glanced into it, too.

They did so for a while before Rem broke off, turning to Louise and reaching into one of the sacks that they had tied onto her. From it, he drew out the bottles that they had emptied on their way there, and began filling them up again.

Sydney removed her helmet and drank from the river itself.

Pat watched her do it, and asked, "Good?"

In response, the rigid blonde just turned her eyes to her and nodded. As she put her helmet back on, Pat indulged, and then Damon joined in.

By then, Rem was already glancing from one direction of the river to the other, wondering if he would actually be so lucky as to see a Lakelurk there. For now, there was nothing, but it was likely that following along the river would eventually turn one up.

Once Damon was done drinking, he stuck his arm into the water, waving his hand around inside gently before pulling it out again. He was measuring, if crudely, the speed of the stream.

"Is it good enough?"

After Sydney posed the question, Damon stood up straight, "Yeah. If it's like this near Littlefield, we should be able to get our mission done."

Some silence followed, and then Damon began pacing, "Well, let's get moving."

The river led them along, promising to get them to where they were going. Rem walked closest to it, his eyes surveying the water closely. The stream was flowing in Littlefield's direction, so if he saw anything, it would likely be coming from behind him, which was a bother. He had to keep looking over his shoulder.

"He must be hungry," Pat commented, glancing at Rem.

"I'm hungry, too, to be honest," Damon answered. "And I'm tired of gecko. If he manages to kill a Lakelurk, I'll be happy to switch things up."

With Rem patrolling the water, Sydney was left leading Louise along. If there was one thing she appreciated about Rem, it was that he had a horse. Louise made it so that none of them had to carry any heavy gear.

"I wonder how they taste," Pat wondered aloud.

"Food's food," Sydney commented.

"Hey! I got somethin' here!"

The three of them turned to watch Rem start to jog along the river, but next, they saw something none of them expected. He threw his rifle down, his helmet, his duster, and then his armor.

"Is he going to jump in! Don't jump in, dumb ass! The Lakelurks will get you!"

Pat's words didn't help to stop him

"Private, stand down!"

"Naw, I got somethin' here, sir!"

Next, his machete came off and with nothing on him, he dove in.

"Private!"

Damon ran towards the stream and so did Pat. Sydney jogged as well, and Louise followed behind her.

Upon arrival, Rem surfaced and swam in the direction of the stream.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!"

Sydney looked ahead of him, and saw why he had jumped in.

"Sir," she called. When Damon turned to look at her, she pointed at it.

"A bottle? He jumped in for a damn bottle?"

Eventually, Rem snagged it, and began swimming towards the edge again. Once he reached it, he pulled himself out just as Damon jogged up to him, followed by Pat.

"Private, what the hell were you thinking? You disobeyed orders!"

"Sir, this bottle, it's got a message in it."

"I don't give a damn, private. Next time I tell you to stand down, you stand the fuck down, understood?"

Rem nodded, "Understood, sir."

Then, he held the bottle out to him.

Damon stared into Rem's eyes for a few long moments before he snatched the bottle.

"I thought that since its meant for someone up along the river, we should know. I mean, what if it's raiders or somethin'?"

The corporal didn't give him an answer. Instead, he just opened the container and pulled the message out from inside. Upon spreading the piece of paper, he found some words that were initially unintelligible until he read the word _decanus_. A few lines later, it was clear who this message was from and who it was headed for.

_Vivat Caesar. _

"What's it sayin', sir?"

"It's . . . meant for . . . Legionaries."

Sydney responded with a good measure of alarm, "Legionaries, sir? In Nevada?"

"I guess they've already started moving west."

Rem watched them, and then spoke, "Sir, then that means there's gonna be some legionaries further up the river."

Damon nodded, and looked at the paper again. This time, he found something that alarmed him further.

"There's mention of Bunkerville here. And Littlefield."

"Shit, do yew think they're gonna go after Littlefield?"

"Maybe. It's in Latin. I can't read this. I can only make out some of the familiar stuff, like Caesar, Decanus, and town names."

Some silence ensued between them. Pat seemed the least concerned.

"Sir, permission to do some scouting in Bunkerville. If there's going to be an attack on Littlefield, we need to know about it."

Rem added with vehemence, "I agree, sir, and I would like to volunteer myself as well."

The idea of Sydney and Rem on a detail all alone immediately raised a red flag.

"No, it'll be Sydney and I."

Rem cut in, "But sir, with all due respect, you're a big part of our detail in Littlefield. Sydney and I know some thangs about hydroelectric plants, but yew know 'em better. Hell, yew even made one before."

Damon seemed conflicted.

"We can't let anythang happen to yew, sir. Besides, I've done lotsa scoutin' before and Sydney worked on the towers in Ranger Center. She and I are the best qualified."

Eventually, Sydney chimed in, "The Private and I are the best qualified, we can't risk your life, and we have to find out what kind of force we'll be dealing with if they attack Littlefield, sir. I'm going to have to second the motion.

Pat stood there, watching them debate things. To her, it made very little difference.

"Alright," Damon finally caved. "But listen, you both better put your differences aside and function like a cohesive unit. That's an order."

"No problem, sir," Rem responded. "We'll do thangs right."

"Yes, sir," Sydney added.

"So, how should we go on about this?"

Rem answered immediately, "How far is Bunkerville from here, sir?"

"About four or five miles."

"Awright. I think yew should wait close to here with Pat and Louise. Somewhere yew can't be seen. Yew got yer headset?"

When Rangers choose something over the armor, they get headsets issued to them since the helmets have built in communication. Even Pat had been given one.

"Yeah, I'll keep it on."

"If we ain't back in two days, yew head to Littlefield and give yerself a wide berth 'round Bunkerville on yer way there. If there's any trouble yew can't handle, yew drop everythang yew wont need and haul ass on Louise. She'll git ya'll outta trouble and to Littlefield in no time."

Damon answered, "Alright, private. Make it quick."

Rem nodded assertively and began picking up his things, but before he finished, he realized something. He turned back to Damon, "Oh and sir, since we ain't puttin' the bottle back in the water, keep an eye out. They might come down here lookin' for it. That's why I thought yew should stay somewhere close to here, but not next to the river."

Pat watched Rem talk as though he was in charge and had to wonder if it would cause some friction between them all. Chain of command was such a delicate and unnecessary practice from her point of view.

"Point taken, private," he answered. "I've got things under control on this end, so you make sure everything gets taken care of on yours."

"Yes sir," Rem responded as he put his armor back on.


	23. Bunkerville

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 21st 8:54 pm**

**2267 **

Sydney was surprised with the pace that they kept, but even further so, she was surprised with the focus that Rem displayed. He had been silent nearly the whole way, and very, very vigilant. The only time he spoke was when something absolutely needed to be said. He was making good on the statement he made on the day they left.

On their way to Bunkerville, they had followed the river for about a mile and a half, imagining that they might find a legionary camp along it. However, the trail along the way showed no signs of use. There were no tracks, no campfires left behind to mark that someone had gone by.

In the end, he felt it was safer for them to distance themselves from the river and take a wide path to Bunkerville, and that was what they did.

Beside the river, there were higher paths that they were able to take, where vision was plentiful. With the night hanging overhead, it was also easy to stay hidden and because of their low light optics, they were able to spot things that would normally be very difficult to see.

Moving along, the dim green glow in their visors distinguished them in the darkness, and eventually, they came upon a tall hill that they each climbed up on. Sydney followed behind him every step of the way, only stopping when he asked her to use her scope as a binocular.

"Shit . . . " Rem commented.

What they were each staring at when they reached that high plateau was a trail of smoke rising high into the air, emanating from Bunkerville's western outskirts.

"They're asking for help?"

Rem noticed that she refused to call him sir. He had come close to mentioning it, but decided to prioritize the mission. So long as she did what he told her to do, he didn't care if she said sir at the end of every sentence or if she said my love.

It took him a few moments to answer. He stared at the town in the distance, trying his best to make sense of it. It seemed lonely, and inert.

"No," he answered, "It's somethin' else. There ain't no gunshots. There ain't been any fer a while, too, otherwise we woulda heard 'em. Whatever happened down there, it ended a while ago. Day or so, I'd say, since the fire's still goin'."

Sydney spent a few moments watching until the most obvious of questions found her.

"What are we going to do?"

"We're gonna go check it out. We might be able to make a vague guess o' how many Legionaries came stampeedin' through dependin' on how big the defendin' force was."

She turned to glance at him. The helmet was stoic, and it hid the fact that one of her eyebrows was raised. So, he _did _know what he was doing.

"C'mon, ever vigilant," he said, stepping forth with the repeater held firmly in his hands. "Keep in mind, we fail our mission if we git seen by 'em, even _if _we come out of it alive."

The town of Bunkerville was pretty big, but still obscure enough to have avoided having a bomb dropped right on top of it. In its heyday, it had a population of about a thousand people, and was one of the towns to be found right before entering Arizona.

Now? It was the pre war era's equivalent of a ghost town. Except it hadn't been shut down because another highway had been made and travelers no longer drove by, or because some mine nearby stopped producing. It had been shut down because Caesar's Legion willed it so.

It didn't take very long for Caesar's Legion to start introducing itself. They hadn't even reached the town yet by the time Rem and Sydney started to make things out. What drew their attention first and foremost wasn't the blood staining the ground on their way there, where fleeing civilians had probably fallen dead. It also wasn't the bullet holes that marked the walls. It was the crosses, and the men that were nailed to them.

The two of them were stunned into silence for a while as they came to a stop. A few feet across from the first cross that they saw, there was another one, and another man's corpse adorned it.

"Colonel Watts was right," Rem's voice grumbled out, "This kinda shit doesn't quite hit ya 'til yew see it right in front o' yew."

One of the men that was nailed onto a cross stirred in response to Rem's voice. His head tilted up, his eyelids coming open to reveal a painful gaze full of despair, begging for mercy.

"Shit," Rem spat, jogging in the man's direction. "Hold on, sir, I'll get yew down from there."

"No," he answered, his voice barely audible. Rem came to a pause.

"Don't . . . " he added, his head hanging down, no longer able to keep itself upright.

"But sir, we can help yew."

"No . . . " he added, this time with more despair.

The whole time, Sydney remained standing behind him.

"I think we should bring him down," she began, "I don't think he's in his right mind."

Rem mulled it over, and found sense in what she said.

"Awright. Sir, we're bringin' yew down. It's fer yer own good, ya hear?"

"No!"

Again, his attempt at a yell was a pitiful, breathy sound that, even so, didn't fail to leave Rem in doubt. This time, when he paused, Sydney stepped forth and set her rifle down.

"If we're going to do this, we better do it quickly," she declared.

"No!"

Rem tilted his eyes up at the man and watched as his chest started to rise and lower faster than before, his body unable to withstand the sudden rush of physical functions that his body attempted to perform as a result of his elevated emotions.

"Corporal, he's going into shock!"

Sydney looked up, and saw what Rem was looking at. The victim shivered violently for a few moments while they watched, stunned into silence until just like that, his eyes went devoid of life. Now, with his head hanging low, he was staring straight down into nothingness.

The two of them stood unmoving.

As they each deeply ruminated what had just happened, a moan broke their trance. Before long, it was followed by another, and then followed by a pitiful cry for help. It wasn't until then that they each turned to look down the rest of Virgin street, a road lined with crosses and men crucified on them, some of them still alive, all the way down to the end of the street, where a church stood on its last legs. In front of it, that fire that they had seen from a distance burned.

That was to be the first Legion atrocity that they would see, and most certainly not the last.

"Help me . . . "

Rem paced forward, coming to stand next to Sydney. Their helmets hid whatever expression appeared on their faces.

There were too many to help. Not that they could help any of them in the first place. Sydney and Rem could see it in their faces, all of them were just waiting for a chance to go into shock, just like the first man they tried to help.

Moving any of them would kill them. It just didn't look like any of them could withstand having the nails removed from their hands and feet, and all of the other trauma that could come from bringing them down from there.

"Rem . . . "

He turned his head to her.

"What do we do?"

It took him a few moments to answer.

"We end it."

She whipped her head in his direction, staring into his green visors for a good long while before she finally nodded, if tentatively.

"We use my pistol. It's silenced. We can't attract any attention."

As he stepped forward, she watched him go, until finally she picked her rifle from the ground and followed behind him. Rem came to a stop in front of the first victim that was still alive, and looked up, only to have the gaze returned.

"Are you here to help us?"

Rem answered, "I'm sorry, sir, but in the state yer in, we can't move ya without killin' ya. There's only one way we can help."

The man's dark eyes never moved away from those green visors, and then, he offered up a frail nod, "Son . . . " he struggled for the breath, ". . . that's what I meant."

Underneath the helmet, Rem's eyes went small.

"Awright, sir. I'm sorry, but I have some questions."

"You're not going to be so cruel as to make me relive it . . . are you?"

"It's important we know somethin', sir. It'll help us keep this from happenin' to others. Can yew help us back?"

His eyes hung low, like he could barely handle the weight of yet another minute of torture.

"There must have been fifty of them," the man began, his voice still frail, "They stalked our perimeter for days, and when the time was right, they struck. We never stood a chance."

With every word, there was more pain in his voice, and in his eyes.

"They took our women . . . " he added, this time with much more anger, like the statement had evoked some unwanted memory that nearly put him over the edge.

"That's all, sir," Rem mercifully interjected.

A moment later, he lifted the pistol and aimed it right at his head. As he stared at the man he was about to mercifully kill, he saw Jenny's face. The first person he ever had to do this for.

A faint whistle broke the silence, and the man's body went slack. Blood dripped down from his forehead and landed at Rem's foot.

Sydney stood there, like a statue.

As Rem turned around, she stopped following, but watched him each and every time as he exchanged some words with the victims and ended their suffering. Her? Her legs were shuddering. Her knees were weak. She felt so much smaller all of a sudden, and then hated herself for responding to all of this the way she did.

She needed to be stronger. Watts had warned them about this.

Before Rem could pull the trigger one last time, he felt a weight dragging his hand down. He turned his head to see Sydney there.

"What?"

After he asked, she reached for his pistol, and that was when Rem figured out what was happening.

Without a word, he loosened his grip on the pistol and let her have it. Then, he watched as she pointed her gun upwards at a male in his early twenties. Very young, and still so full of pain.

She pulled the trigger and as quickly as that, she returned the gun.

Rem took it from her and watched her go. He had to wonder how she felt, or if she felt anything about it at all. He remembered the effect killing Jenny had on him, but maybe . . . maybe Sydney was made of stronger stuff.

He was in the middle of thinking about when he heard a bark.

Sydney stopped and turned, and so did Rem.

Another bark echoed in the distance.

_Shit. _

Rem turned and began running towards Sydney.

"Legion dogs?"

"Yes, Corporal, c'mere," he grabbed her arm, dragging her along. She pulled back, and the barks started to get closer.

"Follow me, Corporal, that's a _god damn order, _ya hear? We don't have time for this bullshit."

"What the hell are you going to do?"

"No time!"

He grabbed her again, and reluctantly, she followed, but not before she ripped her arm away from him. They reached the church, and he opened the door, shoving her inside.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Yew stay right here, Corporal. That's an order. Turn on yer comm."

After he shut the door, she stared at it in confusion. What the hell was he thinking? Nearly all of her was screaming at her to open the door and outwardly disobey.

Rem, on the other hand, began sprinting away from the church. Upon rounding the fire, he watched a Legion dog run around the corner in his direction. Colonel Watts had told them all about these things, but what stood out most in Rem's mind was that where there was a mongrel, there were bound to be Legionaries. The thought that fifty of them were about to come running at them put fear into him.

Still, the mongrel needed to be put down, so he stopped and lifted the rifle. His eyes aligned with the iron sight and once it was level with the careening mongrel, he pulled the trigger. The rifle erupted, the enormous 45-70 government round bursting forth and finding its target. The needle nosed projectile tore through flesh and bone alike, tumbling into the dog's body and putting it down in a high pitched yelp.

Behind it, he finally saw one. A man in red clothing, and improvised iron armor following behind the mongrel's trail.

Rem managed to see his eyes, fierce, determined, and calculating. The moment that Rem raised the rifle, he fell back into cover and began calling out, "Desert Ranger!"

His eyes narrowed under his helmet. He had no clue how many there were. He was left with no choice but to follow the plan he had already put into motion. Swiftly and with utmost haste, he turned his body and began to run as fast as his feet could carry him.

Inside the church, Sydney stirred, growing impatient, especially after Rem's rifle fire rung out.

"Corporal, yew there?"

"Yes, what the fuck is your problem?"

"Try and get a look at 'em as they run by. I need to know how many! And be careful. Don't get seen!"

She looked around for a window and when she found one, she pressed her back against the wall next to it and stole a peek.

The Legionaries sprung from their positions like wolves, striding through the street like shadows, each one of them eager for the hunt. She watched them all chase in one general direction, each of them taking a different path in the direction of their prey to avoid funneling themselves into gunfire.

She had never seen such a determined look on anybody's face. Rem was done for.

"Eight. I counted eight. They're on your ass, Rem. I'm coming out."

"Yew stay yer ass there, Corporal. I gave yew a fuckin' order, and you better damn well stay true to it 'til I'm dead!"

His answer boiled her blood, and anger was a good way to suppress the inherent fear that came with this situation.

Eight was a huge relief. It was many times less than fifty, but even though he felt a pang of relief from what she said to him, there were still eight highly trained killers chasing after him. And in the armor he was wearing, they were surely faster than him.

The thought of that sent him into a fierce sprint, running forward all along into the city.

"Corporal, I need yew to find the highest damn vantage point yew can get to. I'm gonna lead 'em out back the way you and I came. Into that open space. Wait 'til we get a few yards out and open fire, an' make it quick. In the open, my ass is on the line, too."

As he ran, something whistled by his head and he saw a spear embed itself into the ground ahead of him.

_Shit, _he thought, gritting his teeth and turning around, the barrel of his rifle looking for a target.

Immediately, the Legionaries scattered into cover, and they did so fluidly. Rem counted only three. That meant the others were taking a different route. It only felt like it would be a matter of time before he was cornered.

One of them in particular, however, was vulnerable.

Rem squeezed the trigger and the formidable round, meant to pierce because of its flat nose, tore through a wooden corner and found purchase on the other side.

"Uagh!"

Rem turned around and the moment he did, it happened, and it was just like Colonel Watts said it would be.

The Legionary closed in on him fearlessly, a machete held firmly in his right hand. Rem thought it was over.

The seconds slowed down and the Legionary swung low. Where the machete would have found flesh in the form of Rem's thigh, which was the only place Desert Rangers weren't armored, he found the iron of the rifle's barrel. After it bounced off and the Legionary brandished his machete again, Rem angled the barrel fluidly and pulled the trigger.

It blasted into the Legionary's chest, ripping through the armor and opening a hole on the other side. The power of the weapon knocked him back, and by then, he knew the ones behind him would already be closing in.

He whipped around as fast as he could, and again, the Legionaries scurried behind cover. That's when it hit him.

_No firearms. Can't run no more, either. _

He turned his body and ran up some steps, slamming through a door and into an establishment, running for his life. He kept note of how far he got before he heard steps inside the house.

They were so fast.

When Rem reached the top and turned around, they had already taken cover, and weren't in his field of vision. With that, he began slowly backpedaling. They were plugging his escape routes, ushering him into an enclosed space.

_They know where yew are._

Outside, the Decanus, the man who led this group of eight men, spoke, "Up," he said, simply. At his behest, a Legionary ran to the outer wall of the building and began climbing up, heading for one of the windows there.

By the time the Decanus looked towards another of the windows, there was already a Legionary climbing towards it, too.

_The windows. _

Rem burst into one of the rooms just in time to see a Legionary climbing into it.

"Legionary!"

He pulled the trigger just as he turned to look. The rifle kicked into Rem's arms, but the gauntlets that he wore on each of his forearms helped to absorb the heavy recoil. The huge round, originally meant for large game during the pre war era, ripped a clean hole through his cranium and sent him flying back out the window.

Rem turned fluidly and kicked the door closed. As it shut, he saw a shadow lingering behind it, and he began pacing back, aiming his rifle at the door.

"Corporal, yew ready?"

She barely heard his question because he didn't want his hunters to hear it.

"I'm working on it."

His heavy breath was audible.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, but I ain't gonna stay lucky fer long."

A shot rung out, and it caused Rem's shoulders to jump. At the same time, he experienced an odd, telling pain in his stomach. He'd been shot. The armor had diffused it nearly in entirety, and the left over pain was less than he could handle. He could still think.

"Agh! My leg!"

"Rem!"

The moment Rem feigned being injured, the door burst open, and the Legionary that came through found that armored figure up and standing, his rifle ready to fire. He'd been fooled.

Bang.

That intense recoil of his rifle was satisfying, especially when the Legionary flew back, yelling in pain.

"I'm fine, Corporal," he muttered.

They began to guard the door, and knowing that there was a window behind him, he knew he was trapped.

_Shit. _

Just as Sydney felt a weight lifting off of her, knowing that Rem was still okay, she arrived where she needed to be. Climbing up onto the church roof had been an ordeal.

"Rem, I've got a vantage point."

The moment he heard that, he went for broke and ran for the window, and he dove through it. On his way down, he tilted his body forward and tried to land into a roll, just as a spear flew right through and embedded itself into the ground he landed beside. When he did, however, his legs smacked down hard and instantly, he knew he had made a mistake. A stinging pain crawled up from his calf, up to the back of his thigh.

"Agh!"

Relieved that there were no legionaries there, he turned around and opened fire on the window, performing the lever action for the rifle seamlessly. The wood of the window frame burst into splinters with every shot.

By then, his rifle had earned their respect, and it kept them from coming after him.

_They're suppressed. Gotta get up!_

With what strength he had left, he pushed himself up to his feet and began limping away, finding sweet, sweet joy in the fact that he was headed into open space.

As he turned to look over his shoulder, he saw them pouring out the window, each one of them landing into a perfect roll, and even springing up onto their feet, exploding forth into a run after him.

Adrenaline set in, and he forced himself into a jog, but it made little difference. The Legionaries were making very short work of the distance between them.

_Run! _

He forced himself into a painful sprint, and that was when he felt something smacking off his helmet. The spear struck the floor in front of him.

"Aim for the legs, recruits!"

Rem turned just in time to feel a piercing pain forcing its way through his right thigh. As he fell to the ground, one of the Legionaries caught up to him and ripped his rifle from his hands, tossing it aside.

"Shit . . . " he whispered.

"Strip him. His armor is ours. Prepare a cross for him."

"Corporal . . . "

A shot rung out, and the loud sound vibrated in their chests. The Legionary standing in front of Rem fell forward and hit the floor, blood pouring from a grisly, open wound in his head.

They all turned around, and when they saw the distance between them and the town, they knew what had happened. They had been lured out into open space. Each and every one of them.

"Scatter!"

The five of them followed orders, and that was when Sydney let her rifle loose. Her finger was as efficient as it was merciless. Rem watched them fall, one by one, and eventually drew out his pistol and began shooting at them as well, helping Sydney to sift through the five targets.

Sydney's rifle fire ensued unhindered, and when the Decanus had fallen to the floor, and was crawling towards the town, one final shot put him down for good.

As she stared through her scope, her breath was heavy. Her heart was beating wildly. They were dead. They had survived an encounter with Legionaries.

_I did it. Shit, we did it. We're still alive. _

Rem dropped entirely onto his back, breathing heavily.

"Good job, Corporal," he said, with relief.

"We did it. We killed the bastards."

His jovial relief was contagious.

"Shit, Corporal . . . "

"What? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I'm just . . . I can't believe we survived. I thought we was done for."

"You're such an idiot, you know that!"

Then, he heard Sydney laughing for the first time. It was joyful laughter. Even for her, the idea of surviving this put her out of her usual rigid self.

Still, though she reprimanded him, she knew that what he had done was remarkable. Hiding that he had an ally, and luring them out into open space like that, was genius. Ranger Center had drilled endless amounts of strategies into her head but none of it had quite hit her as hard as it did then. It was different when you saw strategy applied in real combat situations.

Strategic advantages could make a huge difference. After all, the two of them had taken out eight Legionaries.

"Yeah, yeah, we're still alive, and they're dead. Now c'mere and help me out."

There was pain in his voice.

From where she was, she had been able to see when the spear struck him in the thigh.

"Did it get your femoral?"

"Naw, I ain't bleedin' like that."

Now, she felt entirely at ease. A spear injury was nothing that a stimpak couldn't handle, unless an artery injury was involved.

"On my way."

As she jogged in his direction, the helmet she was wearing hid a small smile. She crouched in front of him and looked into his visors. Now that she was there, he began removing his helmet.

"We're going to have to take that thing out."

"Yes ma'am, I am aware," he answered dryly. "Get the stimpak ready."

She set her rifle down and drew one out from her duster. After readying it, she reached for the spear shaft and grasped it. In response, he winced.

"Lower. Grab hold of it close to my leg fer leverage."

She paused, and then lowered her hands.

"Do it hard. I don't want it comin' out after a few yanks. Just one, ya hear?"

He watched the helmet nod a few times, and also watched her acquire some good footing before suddenly, she pulled.

"Argh!"

He yelled sharply, and the spear didn't come out all the way.

"Pull damn it!"

In a panic, she pulled again and the blood started to pour out.

"Urrrrrr," he grunted. "Stimpak."

She tossed the spear aside and applied the stimpak close to the wound.

"Get ready for the rush."

No longer after she said it, he felt it. His cheeks reddened, his face warmed, and then his heart started to beat harder than it did when the Legionaries were chasing him. His eyes closed tightly and he lowered onto his back.

Slowly but surely, the sensation turned into a faint euphoria that left him feeling good.

All the while, Sydney watched as the stimpak worked its magic of cell regeneration, causing the wound to come to a close, leaving a vague slit. The bleeding stopped, but the internal damage would take longer to heal.

"Mmm . . . that's a lot better, Corporal," he said.

She couldn't help but smile as he lay there.

"We're so damn lucky they ain't had no rifles. One of 'em had a pistol. Didn't have the sense to pick it up."

"Yeah."

"Damn it, now I know the difference 'tween raiders 'an Legionaries."

He sat himself up and looked around for the Decanus.

"That bastard was their leader. The Decanus that Colonel Watts mentioned."

Sydney turned her head to look at him, and nodded.

"Looks like it."

There was a pause while the two of them thought things over. They seemed to digress when Rem broke the silence.

He released a breath and spoke, "Think this happened to Littlefield, too?"

"Maybe," Sydney answered. "If fifty men attacked this place, then we can deduct eight. That's what matters right now."

"C'mon, help me up. We need to get the hell outta here 'fore more of 'em come lookin'. We need to get back to Corporal Daley."

Sydney turned to him and helped him up after he put his helmet back. From there, she aided him in walking, at least until the stimpak did what it was supposed to.

The effects of being engaged by Legionaries didn't quite leave either of them quickly. Rem hadn't been so scared in his life, or so vulnerable. Sydney felt the same way. Ranger Center had taught her so much, and she had been outside its walls before, hunting White Legs and raiders before, but it was nothing like fighting Legionaries that planned so well against you.


	24. To Littlefield

**Mojave Wasteland**

**September 21st 11:37 pm**

**2267 **

For the most part, there had been absolutely nothing but silence between he and Pat. They only spoke when it was necessary after finding a place close to the river where they felt they were relatively hidden.

Pat couldn't understand why conversation with him had come so easily when they were at Ranger Center. Maybe it was the situation. After all, Damon was in charge here, and he had to worry about his subordinates. It was his job.

She spent a long time reading one of the books that she had brought with her from Ranger Center, but she could only entertain herself with that for only so long. Eventually, she shut the book and glanced at him, sitting there on the dirt.

"Don't worry, they'll be fine."

He tilted his head up in her direction, "You can never play things like everything is certain when you're in charge."

"I guess . . . " she answered, releasing a breath as she paced in his direction. "But you're not going to gain anything from worrying about it the whole time. Rem's good, and Sydney looks like she knows what she's doing."

"I don't doubt their abilities, I doubt how well they get along. You've seen them. They're at each other's throat all the time."

The frustration deepened in him.

"I shouldn't have let them convince me. Won't let it happen again."

"I know I'm not a Desert Ranger, but I think you three made the right choice. You're the smart guy they need over in Littlefield, Rem's got experience, and Sydney's got that rifle."

"Yeah, I remember. I still don't feel right being so easily swayed. I'll think things through more carefully next time."

"If you say no to something like that next time, you might be doing it so you don't feel this way again, not because it's the right choice."

This time, he remained silent and pensive. She stared at him, as if she was waiting for an answer.

"But you don't have to listen to me. I'm no damn soldier."

Again, he said nothing.

Another hour went by. Pat was standing by, looking around when Damon finally spoke to her.

"Gotten better at reading yet?"

She turned around slowly, "Oh, I thought you were asleep."

He offered her a stoic glance as he stood up.

"I guess so. Yeah, I have. Still need some work, but I've been better off. Thanks."

"Yeah. You know, I had a lot of questions to ask you, but we haven't had much of a chance to."

"What do you want to know?"

"Where were you born?"

"Pioche."

Damon nodded his head.

"Any family?"

"Nope. My mom and dad were killed by raiders when I was a kid."

The fact that she said it so fluidly, with so little thought to it, made him see what kind of people wastelanders were. He had met wastelanders before, but had never spent any time getting to know any.

"Sorry to hear that."

Pat's shoulders lifted and dropped as fluidly as she spoke her words.

"Everyone's got a story. I've never met anybody who has lived a lifetime as a wastelander without one."

"Yeah. You're the first wastelander I've ever gotten to know in depth."

"Rem's a wastelander."

Damon took a breath, "Guess I never thought of it that way. You're right."

"Yeah."

"So, do you have any people you call friends?"

Pat was caught flat footed by the question. She had never really thought about it.

"I would say Rem's a friend. He saved my ass before we went to Ranger Center. You, too. I tell you, there aren't many people out in the wasteland as nice as you guys are. I'd say you guys are just like the Followers."

Damon nodded his head, "The Followers. Yeah, Ranger Center has had dealings with them before. They've provided us with a lot of medical expertise in exchange escort services and scavenging services. Good people."

"Yeah, they are," answered Pat, with more sincerity than she had been speaking with before.

"How'd you meet them?"

Pat breathed in deeply and released it. Thinking about the answer to his question brought up bad memories.

"I got into some trouble. I had a boyfriend back then. We got ourselves hurt really badly by some raiders. A Follower came through and not only did he kill the raiders, he provided medical assistance to us. My boyfriend didn't make it, but I did."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"That's the second time you've said that."

Damon was surprised to be woken up to that fact.

"Sorry, I really mean it. I do."

"It happens. I'm used to people dying. It's just the way it is around here. People leave as fast as they come. Boyfriends, friends, family, everyone. Before you know it, you're gone, too."

"I won't let that happen."

A smug grin spanned Pat's lips, slowly turning to glance at Damon. Something about her eyes was gentler than usual.

"What are you saying? That you're going to protect me?

Damon fumbled, "Well, you know, I take care of friends."

"We're friends now?"

"I would say so. Aren't we?"

She stared him down for a good long while, "You better be careful who you talk to like that out here, Damon."

"What? Why?"

"Let's just say that it's easier to know what you're getting yourself into when you're dating a cute redhead who's lived her whole life in Ranger Center."

"You're taking things the wrong way."

She started pacing towards him and stopped just inches from him, "Am I?"

Damon glanced down at her, staring into her eyes for a good long while before the moment overwhelmed him and pushed his lips forth, letting them graze against hers. The moment proved fleeting, because she turned her head away from him.

"Sorry," she said, ". . . maybe we should give it some time. Don't want to rush things."

As she turned her back to him, she knew he was staring at her.

"Is there . . . what . . . why . . ."

_I'm pregnant, _she thought.

"Nothing. Just . . . I . . . " she brought her hand up to her face, rubbing, as if she was going to somehow ease the stress away with a light massage. Finally, she turned around to face him.

"Don't worry. You're fine. It's just me. Women are complicated . . . I'm sure you know how it goes."

"Right," he answered.

She gave him an encouraging smile, "Trust me. Nothing's wrong."

"If you say so," his voice was full of disdain as he turned from her and paced away to keep the perimeter under vigilance.

When the early hours of the morning arrived, Damon was on guard duty. Pat was taking a nap, with her plasma rifle lying very close to her hands.

By then, his worries had all but doubled. He knew that Rem asked for two days, but realistically, six miles would be covered twice in the span of a few meager hours. He was almost certain that something had happened.

Like he had so many times before, he lifted his right hand and glanced at the watch he had there, marking how long it had been.

Next, he turned to Louise, who was busy eating some of the food that Rem had picked up for her on their way there.

_Damn it, _he thought, thinking about how bad it would be if he showed up in Littlefield without two of his subordinates. Pat would, quite possibly, leave if Rem wasn't around. After all, he was the one she owed favors to.

"Corporal Daley, do you copy?"

He instantly breathed a sigh of relief.

"I copy, Corporal Crawford. Let's meet back up where we split up and debrief."

"Copy sir," she answered.

After waking Pat back up, they headed towards the part of the river where they had split and Damon saw Rem on the floor with blood on his right pants leg. Sydney was standing next to him, watching them come closer.

"Oh shit! Did you guys see some action!"

Pat stole Damon's thunder.

Both Rem and Sydney knew better than to answer the question.

Once Damon was there, he didn't waste any time asking the question on everybody's mind, "What the hell happened?"

Sydney responded, "Bunkerville was eradicated by the Legion, sir. What was left of the victims were crucified along one of the streets and left there to die. While we were in town investi- - "

"You went into town?"

"Yes sir," she answered. Rem cut in to explain his case.

"The whole town was inert, sir, and if Bunkerville was destroyed and Littlefield is next, I decided that we needed to see how big the defendin' force was to get a vague idea of how many Legionaries might be headed fer Littlefield."

"And you were engaged," Damon answered, with conviction.

"Yes sir," answered Rem.

"You shouldn't have gone in. You made it clear that you were only going to do some scouting."

Sydney spoke in Rem's defense, "Sir, some of those crucified men were still alive. If we hadn't gone in, they would still be there suffering like dogs. Beside, we got information out of one of them. Fifty Legionaries attacked the town. Littlefield needs to know about it . . . if they haven't already . . . had it happen to them, too."

Damon stood silent.

"How many did you guys kill?"

Pat asked with a lot of enthusiasm.

Both Rem and Sydney hesitated to answer, and much to everyone's surprise, it turned out to be Sydney who did.

"Eight."

"Nice job," Pat encouraged.

Her helmeted head nodded just once, like some kind of living statue.

"Well, we're lucky you guys made it out without any casualties."

"It was more than luck, sir. Private Peregrine handled the situation with real efficacy."

Pat raised an eyebrow, looking from Sydney to Rem, noticing the sudden differences between them.

"Naw well, if it wasn't fer Sydney's bullseye shootin' under some serious pressure, I wudda been dead."

Damon was also surprised with the cohesion between them suddenly. While he was still angry that Rem had made the decision to enter the city itself, he knew that they had done well surviving against eight Legionaries.

"While I'm not entirely pleased with your actions, good job. How is your injury, Private?"

"Thank yew sir, and it's gettin' better. They stuck me with a damn spear."

"Can you walk?"

"I think I'll need a half a day or so fer that stimpak to finish doin' its work."

Damon nodded.

"Sir, yew should get to Littlefield on Louise. It might only be a matter of time 'fore thangs get bad over there."

"I agree, sir," Sydney added.

After their suggestions, he seemed to think things through very deeply, and he remembered what Pat told him. What they were saying made a lot of sense, but he knew he would feel like he might have made a mistake if he listened. In the end, doing the right thing outweighed being worried afterwards.

"Alright. That's what we'll do."

"Awright, sir. We should be takin' one hell of a wide berth 'round Bunkerville. We should stay away from the river, too. Could be problems if we follow it all the way up."

Damon nodded, and turned away. Pat watched him go and turned back to Rem, smiling, "So are they tough?"

Rem breathed out and shook his head, "They're fast as hell, Pat. They're well trained, too. We got lucky that they wasn't carryin' no damn guns save fer a pistol, otherwise I woulda got my ass blown off."

"I bet."

"I tell ya, seein' them eight bastards chasin' after me really lit a fire under my ass."

Pat chuckled, and turned around when she heard a thud. Damon was already removing some of the cargo on Louise's back, leaving only a few of the things he needed on there.

After they assorted what he would take with him on Louise and what he would leave behind, Damon had a conference with both Rem and Sydney about what path they would take to Littlefield, pointing it out on the map to each other until they all felt they had it down.

Then, he was off.

"Trot and canter! Remember that! Full gallop when shit hits the fan!"

Pat and Sydney watched him go while standing on their feet while Rem still sat on the floor.

"I'm glad he rode a damn horse before," he added, turning to Sydney, "Do yew know how to ride one?"

"No, I can't," she answered.

"Well, we gonna have to teach yew. Yew too, Pat."

"So I can fall of and crack my skull open? No thanks."

* * *

><p>Damon made sure he followed instructions, and moving along in the open space the way he did made it so that Louise didn't have to bob and weave through many obstacles. It made the ride so much easier.<p>

If Rem was ever out alone, Louise was one hell of a crutch. He could get from place to place in so little time, but because he had always been in a team, that wasn't possible.

From where they had been, it was twenty something miles to Littlefield. He made sure to stop frequently for an hour or so to give her a rest. That way, each time they picked up again, he could ride her as quick as he had ridden before.

Still, it took up to nearly a full day to get to where he was going, and he was thoroughly gladdened by the fact that he hadn't encountered any problems on his way there. There had been no signs of Legionaries, not even gunshots in the distance, which after what Rem and Sydney found in Bunkerville, would have been a huge red flag.

Littlefield became visible in the far distance during the dark hours of the night, and he was relieved to see that there was no pillar of smoke rising from its confines.

With that, he began riding in its direction.

_We're here. Damn am I glad to see everything's looking good, _he thought.

The closer he got, the better the outskirts defined themselves to his eyes, and then he saw something that offset his relief. Immediately, he tugged back on Louise's reigns, very gently, enough to get her to stop.

"Oh no . . . " he uttered, as his heart sunk.

There were crosses standing high on the outskirts of the town.

"Damn it . . . it's too late," he whispered to himself.

He pressed his teeth together and grunted in anger.

_What the fuck are we supposed to do now? _

As he thought about everything, he eventually reached into one of the sacks on Louise's back and drew out some binoculars. As he surveyed the town, he saw movement.

_What the hell? _

The people responsible for the movement that he saw weren't dressed like Legionaries. They were wearing regular clothing.

_What the hell's goin' on here? _

As his vision passed over a cross along its way to continue studying the people, he stopped and drew it back. There was a man there, red armor and a red cape, hanging off it with his head hanging low.

"Oh shit . . . "

Next, he saw a brown duster walk by. A Desert Ranger without his helmet.

"Hah!"

He yelled in relief and amusement.

"Hyah!"

He kicked Louise's sides and she picked up her pace again, cantering towards the town until eventually, he was picked up by someone who was watching the perimeter. Before he ever arrived, the Desert Ranger he had seen before and two men emerged from the town and awaited his arrival, each of them pointing rifles of some kind in his direction.

"State your business," he heard, the Desert Ranger's voice nearly mechanical under the helmet.

"Corporal Daley reporting for duty, sir."

"Stand down," he ordered. The other two men, who were wearing crude forms of armor in the way of thin iron sheets on their torsos, lowered their weapons as Louise came to a stop. "I'll take it from here, guys."

With that, the other two men turned around and began walking away. There was a bit of an audience watching in from behind them, and once they were out of earshot, the unidentified Ranger spoke.

"Verification."

Damon unmounted and answered, "I am a matador," he placed his hand on the revolver on his hip, "And this is my spear."

After a firm nod, the Ranger continued, "Sergeant Major Dominguez. Are you all they sent?"

"No, sir. There are three others on the way. We would have arrived together but we have vital information we believe you needed to know about. Bunkerville was taken out by Legionaries, and we found this note floating along the Virgin River in a bottle."

He drew the note out and handed it over. As Dominguez took it into his hands, Damon continued explaining.

"There's mention of Bunkerville in it, and Littlefield, sir. We believe they'll be headed here next."

Under the mask, the Desert Ranger's face contorted into a sneer, and he looked over the paper.

"I see."

"Two of my subordinates did some scouting in Bunkerville and were told that it was the work of fifty legionaries or so by a crucified victim."

During the silence, the cogs in the Sergeant Major's head began to turn. He understood what was happening.

"Good work, Corporal Daley. Follow me."

He balled the paper up and turned around. Damon grabbed Louise's reigns and led her into town. As they paced in, some of the wastelanders that lived therein watched them walk. Some looked through their windows.

They were all armed.

"Sir, I have to ask."

"Go ahead, Corporal."

"I almost turned back when I saw the crosses."

"That's Mortekai and Bolders' work. Two of the other Desert Rangers that are here with us. They thought that it would be a great idea to show the Legionaries what our sentiments towards them are like around here."

"I see."

"Yup. They faced some resistance at first, from myself and the Captain because we thought it would scare the locals, but it turns out the locals like it. It got them pumped up. Things get festive around here whenever we drag Legionaries in for crucification."

"Damn straight it does," one of the bystanders responded, watching them walk by.

Dominguez released a mischievous cackle and shook his head as they made their way towards an old post office. When they reached it, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Damon tied Louise to a pole outside and followed in afterwards.

"I'll take care of your horse," he heard.

Damon turned around, glancing at a young man.

"We've got water and lots of dry plants we can feed her."

"Thanks a lot, kid. I appreciate that."

"It's the least we can do for you."

Damon nodded assertively and turned away, walking into the post office. Inside, the Sergeant Major was seated on a chair with his helmet off. There were bullet marks on certain areas of his armor, some knicks on his helmet, lots of other marks of wear on the duster he wore.

That was what deployed Desert Rangers looked like.

With his helmet off, Damon was able to see his visibly Hispanic features. He wore a pad lock beard and looked to be in his early thirties, head shaven clean. Beside him was an older Caucasian male, his hair slick back with a large beard hanging well below his chin.

"Corporal Daley, welcome to Littlefield," he began, with a slow, calm voice. "It's good to have other Desert Rangers coming in. We've been waiting. I'm Captain Salmons."

"Thank you, Captain," Damon responded, taking a seat that Captain Salmons motioned for.

"I understand you have a bit of news."

"Yes sir."

After going through the process of explaining everything that happened to the Captain, with no details spared, he nodded slowly. He came to the very same conclusion that Dominguez came to.

"Littlefield is well fortified. We've got sniper rifles, and a community of thirty people that are well prepared, well armed, and they aren't scared by those freak shows the Legion likes to leave behind."

Dominguez nodded his head slowly, "And that's why they went past us and went for Bunkerville, instead, before we send Rangers there to fortify things, too."

Salmons leaned back in his chair, "That's not good. We have a total high of thirty seven men and women here who are able bodied and ready to fight. Not including the Rangers who haven't gotten here. The rest are elderly people and children."

Damon remained silent the whole time.

"Looks like Mortekai and Bolders are gonna have to go out and do some thinning for us. We don't wanna have to fight off a full Legionary force."

Dominguez nodded his head slowly.

"Alright Corporal Daley, good work. Now, let's talk about your mission here. Do you have everything with you?"

"Yes sir."

"Well alright. Let me explain the point of it. We are acquainted with a few communities in the area that we've tried to ally with. Or, in better words, absorb. The more able bodied people we have here in Littlefield, the better off we'll be against an attack. Your little hydroelectric plant is supposed to help make Littlefield an attractive destination for them. If we can supply electrical power for things like great perimeter lighting, and for appliances in some of these homes, stacked on top of four extra Desert Rangers, then we stand a better chance of making them come."

"Understood, sir. Speaking of that, the three other people coming in with me aren't all Desert Rangers. One of them is a wastelander that's been traveling with one of the Rangers on his way here. Just so you know."

The Captain's shoulders lifted and dropped back into place, "So long as he can shoot real well and follow orders, that's fine."

"She can."

"Then we don't have a problem. Alright, Corporal, get some rest," he pointed backwards with his thumb, in the direction of a room behind the post office. "Tomorrow morning, you can begin your mission. Oh and . . . how long do you believe it'll take the rest of your team to get here?"

"They were around twenty miles away when I started making my way here on horseback, so I'd say not more than a day and a half. Two days most, but that's being generous, Captain."

"Good."

* * *

><p>With Louise no longer with them, the other three were left carrying loads, and as they walked along, Pat turned her head to Rem, who had been tinkering with his machete for a few minutes now. As a result, she was stuck holding his repeater.<p>

"What are you doing anyway?"

As he continued tying a long strip of twisted cloth into the scabbard, he answered, "When I got engaged up close, I didn't have no time to get out my machete 'cause it was on my right hip. I'm gonna tie it to my back, have it poke out my left shoulder so I can pull it out with my left hand, and since it's up high, it'll already be in position fer me to swang."

Sydney turned her head to watch him.

"Yew should do that, too, Pat. It'll help."

She shrugged her shoulders, "I don't need to."

Rem answered, dragging out his voice to stress himself, "Thaaaaat's an order."

Pat raised an eyebrow, releasing a breath as she looked at him.

"I'll even do it for you."

"Fine. Whatever will get you to shut up."

Underneath the helmet, Rem smiled.

"I would say yew should do the same, Corporal, but yew got an axe."

"I don't really like it. I would have preferred a machete, so I can do what you're doing."

"We'll see if we can git you one sooner or later."

"So, what happened with you two?"

Both Sydney and Rem turned to look at her in unison. She returned the glance at each of them, wondering why they looked at her like that. She thought the question was legitimate.

"You know, you both wanted to kill each other before Bunkerville."

"I guess there ain't nothin' like almost gettin' killed together to bring two people close, right Corporal?"

Underneath the helmet, Sydney smirked, amused.

"I don't know about close, but . . . you're on the right track."

Pat smiled.

It was a few hours later when Rem finally tried reaching Corporal Daley that they finally got an answer.

"Corporal Daley, do yew read?"

"Loud and clear, Private."

"Shit, it's good to hear yer voice, sir. What's the situation over in Littlefield?"

"Stable. Don't get scared away by the crucified victims in the outskirts."

"Sir?"

"Two of the Rangers here have taken a liking to crucifying Legionaries."

"Hah! That sounds good as hell, sir.

"Yeah. Well, be careful on your way in. I'll let the Captain know you're close."

"Yes, Corporal."

Sydney turned her head slowly to him, having heard the conversation in her own communications system. Eventually, she reached up to her helmet and flipped a switch, turning it off.

* * *

><p>"So the stream's good enough?"<p>

"Yes, Sergeant Major."

Standing there, in the hottest hours of the sun, wasn't fun, but Damon had a mission. For him to get his mission going, Captain Salmons had issued Dominguez and another guard to him, an Asian male in his early twenties to help.

A number of miscellaneous objects would be used, stuff they could take from houses. Pipes, wood, and an improvised trash rack that would keep trash from entering what was called the head. From Ranger Center, he'd brought a popular water turbine design from before the pre war days that had been manufactured there, and a generator with the same history as its partner.

"Hey," Damon heard. After turning around, the Asian man who was there held out his hand, "Jeremy, it's good meeting you."

Damon reached out and shook his hand, "Corporal Daley. Nice to meet you, too."

"Whatever you need, let me know. We've been itching to get a better source of electricity that doesn't mean scavenging for fission batteries. The Sergeant Major and the Captain have been working to get everything ready. All we really need is the power, and things are going to get nice around here."

"Don't worry, Jeremy. I'll have the plant running in no time. We'll get some fan blades turning, maybe some air conditioners fixed, or whatever I can do."

"So, this is the difference between deployed Rangers and the ones that stay at Ranger Center."

"Well, I imagine the Sergeant Major and the Captain know a thing or two about what I'm doing. The difference is that I've got more experience doing it than they do. Machinery was my job back home."

"I get it. Maybe I can learn a thing or two from you."

Damon smiled, "No doubt. That's what we do. We teach. Ask as many questions as you like and follow what I do."

"Sounds great."

Other citizens from Littlefield started showing up just to watch things get started. Damon, though he felt like he was on display behind some glass case, eventually got used to it and shared some things.

"I chose an area with a downward slope because it would provide the perfect place to install the head. The head is a pipe that's going to siphon water from up stream," he moved his hands to gesture at the plateau, ". . . all the way down here," his hands stopped in front of him, "Where the water will feed into the turbine and turn it. The turbine will then put the generator into motion and voila, we have electricity being fed into the batteries."

A Hispanic woman with long black hair stepped forward, "I think this little hydro-whatever plant is going to be a liability towards defending the town itself, but it's about whatever makes the pansies feel good about the place, right?"

From the way she spoke, Damon surmised that she might've done a lot of work as a mercenary before.

"You always find something to complain about, Liz," Jeremy answered. "From my point of view, we take what we can get."

"Actually, we've already come up with some contingency plans for that. Captain Salmons has been thinking about planting one hell of a bomb here so that we can blow it up if a large group of Legionaries comes by trying to get mischievous. But that's a maybe. Blowing the whole thing up would be a waste. The next best thing is to lay some mines around here, make it so they don't want to approach in the first place."

"They can just shoot it."

Damon shrugged, "If they bother using guns or an explosive of any kind," he turned towards the town itself, "Then they alert us to their presence with a good way towards the town to go."

"You guys just have an answer for everything, don't you?"

Jeremy cut in again before Damon could waste his breath, "Come off it, Liz. If you don't believe in this, just go back home and stop wasting the Corporal's time."

Dominguez finally joined in, "That's right. I know you don't like us for our smarts," he stood in front of Liz, glancing down at her, "You like us for our guns. Hydroelectric plant or not, our guns will still be here, baby, don't worry."

Under the helmet, he winked at her, and wished sometimes they he didn't wear it as much as did.

"Alright, alright," she held her hands up, "You convinced me."

"Corporal Daley, do you read?"

Dominguez answered, "This is Sergeant Major Dominguez. I read."

Sydney paused, "This is Corporal Crawford, letting you know that we're coming in from the west, sir."

"Understood. I'll come see you."

By the time Dominguez arrived, Rem, Sydney, and Pat were waiting a few feet away from the town while some of the guards there kept guns trained on them. He walked past them and stopped right near them.

"Verification, please."

"We are matadors," Rem and Sydney answered in unison, ". . . and these are our spears." The two of them motioned at a weapon.

"Welcome to Littlefield," answered Dominguez. "Follow me."

They each stepped forward, following after the Sergeant Major.

"I heard you Rangers got involved in some nasty action over in Bunkerville."

"Yes sir, eight Legionaries. The whole town looked damn quiet, sir, but those mongrels are sharp."

"They are. But you did well winning. Very well."

"There was a bit o' luck involved, but thank yew, sir."

"You like to be politically correct, don't you, Private?"

"Jus' bein' honest, sir. I've already started thinkin' about how different I'll do thangs next time, 'cause if my next encounter is anythang like the one we had to go through, I might as well execute myself for makin' such a stupid mistake."

"Hah. Whatever you say, Private."

"So, there's you, and who else, sir?"

"Captain Christopher Salmons. He's in charge of this detail. Then there's Mortekai Greyson," his lips curled into a smirk, "He's the . . . _brightest_ guy, I would say, in our detail. Then there's Andre Bolders, who is the _biggest _guy, in this detail."

Sydney had to ask, "Sir, we were told there were four Rangers out here. Did something happen to the other two?"

"No, those are the other two."

So there was a smart guy, and a big guy.

Rem and Sydney were left wondering why they were referred to by name rather than by rank. Rem almost asked, but Dominguez quickly changed the subject, "You should go meet them after the Captain debriefs you. Just make sure you knock on their front door and get an answer before stepping in."

"So we know who the others are. Who are you?"

Dominguez paused at Pat's question, "Civilian relations. I listen to problems and see about what we can do to fix it."

They continued walking, and then Pat asked again, "Where's Damon?"

"He's over that way," he pointed, "He's been getting things for the hydroelectric plant ready. You can go see him if you like. The Private and the Corporal have to see Captain Salmons, but not you."

"Sounds perfect. I'm not too much for the soldiery stuff."

She branched away. The eyes that watched her go didn't bother her at all.

"Welcome to Littlefield, Private, Corporal."

"Thank you, sir," Sydney and Rem answered, nearly in unison.

"We're glad to have you. Corporal Daley informed me of your exploits over in Bunkerville. Consider yourselves promoted to the next rank."

Rem's eyes widened, and even Sydney was surprised.

"Thank you, sir," they each answered again.

_Sergeant Crawford . . . _Sydney thought.

_Just like that. _

It made little difference to Rem. The word Private was still in his rank.

"This detail will be relatively simple. You'll go around with Sergeant Major Dominguez and become acquainted with the people. You'll teach them whatever they need to know. Help them keep their guns maintained, give them tips on what to do when facing Legionaries, anything. And, of course, be at the ready at all times. We have a community wide alarm system that'll ring when things get heavy around here. If it goes off, you stop whatever you're doing and prepare for a fight. Understood?"

"Yes sir," they answered again.

"Yes sir, yes sir, yes sir. I like the sound of that."

"I have another detail ready for the two of you, but for now, we're going to hold off on it. At least until the plant's up and running. If you're tired, you're free to rest."

He pointed backwards with his thumb.

"Thank yew, sir. I ain't really tired, so I'll go outside and introduce myself to the other Rangers."

"Good idea. Dismissed."


	25. Total war

**Mojave Wasteland**

**September 22nd 1:29 pm**

**2267 **

"They're over there, Private," Sergeant Major Dominguez said. Sydney wasn't as social as Rem was, and had headed in another direction. She figured she would meet the rest of the Rangers when the time was right.

"Thank yew, sir," Rem responded, pacing in the direction of a house that was detached from the rest. It was very quiet, too, and there were no people anywhere near it.

"Stay towards the front door!"

Rem turned around, finding Dominguez there staring at him, and wondered why things were so complicated when it involved these two Rangers.

"Yes, sir!"

He turned around again. His helmet was off, held in one of his hands while his other held his rifle. The sole of his boot dragged along the floor as he reached the front door and knocked on it with his helmet.

"Put your helmet on!"

_Are yew serious? _

He turned around again, giving Dominguez a glance before following orders. Upon turning to face the front door one final time, he found himself staring at a lower torso. Every inch of his body paused.

Then, he dragged his eyes upward until he found a large, green face staring into each of his visors. Even for super mutants, this guy was enormous. Must've been around ten feet tall, or a few inches over, and despite the fact that his clothes had clearly been made specifically for him, likely by Ranger Center, his muscles bulged against them. It was a wonder how they hadn't completely lost their use at this point.

He wore a tattered duster over improvised iron armor that was much, much thicker and heavier than what any human being could lumber around in. It, too, was marked by bullet holes and . . . Rem stopped, his eyes focusing under the helmet.

An enormous claw mark spanned the iron, and memories of the Deathclaw he encountered three years ago returned.

"Yeah?"

His voice rumbled deeply, like two faults grinding against one another deep inside the Earth. It took Rem a few moments to knock himself out of the idea that this super mutant may have taken on a Deathclaw close range sometime in his past.

"Uh, yeah, sir."

"Bolders," he corrected.

"Bolders," Rem answered, nodding assuredly.

"I don't like applying rank to myself. I haven't reported in to Ranger Center in too long."

Rem had to wonder how that worked. He probably just let Captain Salmons handle the decisions, and followed orders.

"Come on in," he said, straightening out. Now that the mutant wasn't crouched to peer through the door, Rem couldn't see his head on the other side of the doorway. After a pause, he followed in and turned, closing the door when the house shuddered.

He calmly turned to see what it was and found that it happened because Bolders sat down on the floor. Unfortunately for him, there were no chairs that could sustain his weight.

"So, boy," he took a glance at Rem. His armor, in particular.

"You don't look like you seen much action. Fresh out of the Center?"

In the midst of his question, he procured an enormous cigar that he had likely rolled himself and then dragged a match across his cheek and lit it. As the fire caught on, he drew a deep breath and calmly let the smoke escape through his nostrils.

"Naw, sir. I'm a deployed Ranger. I just recently earned my armor, though."

"Oh, I thought the four Rangers coming in were all going to be fresh out of the Center. That's good news."

"It ain't so bad," Rem answered, taking a seat on a chair nearby. He set the butt of his rifle down against the floor beside him and kept it upright with his hand.

"Corporal Daley's got a mini gun. Yew can bet yer ass that when he lets that thang rip, Legionaries are gonna piss their pants. Sergeant Crawford's got a sniper rifle, and she's good under pressure. Real good. And then there's Pat. She ain't a Ranger. She was travelin' wit' me, but she's mean, and she's lived her whole life out in the wastes."

Bolders nodded very slowly, still caught in the throes of a smoky, but gentle, bliss, "Not bad. I was worried we would get a bunch of Rangers that were wet behind the ears."

Rem remembered the Sergeant Major's description of Bolders. He figured that Bolders wasn't just the biggest guy in this detail, he was the biggest guy in the whole of the Desert Rangers.

"How'd you get that?"

The Private's focus returned and he looked down at his bloody pants leg, which had the blood wiped off, but the stain was still there.

"Got into it with some Legionaries in Bunkerville."

"That was you?"

"Yes. Sergeant Crawford and I."

"Nice job. I heard you were in charge behind Corporal Daley. Why wasn't the Sergeant in charge?"

"Captain Salmons promoted her just now. I was second in charge because I seen more action than both of 'em."

"Makes sense."

"Who are you talking to?"

The alien voice garnered each of their attentions from somewhere else in the establishment, and Rem noticed something very odd about it.

"One of the other Rangers! One of the ones who killed eight Legionaries in Bunkerville!"

Out loud, Bolders' voice lost some of its vibration, but still sounded very, very clear when compared to many of the mutants Rem had seen and met before in the past. It also reached him just then that Bolders wasn't wearing vices to keep his lips out of the way.

"That's Mortekai. You met me already. Go meet him."

Bolders watched as Rem stood and paced into the hallway. He was glad he could just sit around and enjoy his cigar now. There was no puff that went unsavored.

Rem didn't need any more directions when he went into the hallway. He came across one of the rooms that, instead of a door, had a transparent wall in front of it instead. On the other side, there was a desk up against it, holding it in place, and a chair with a Desert Ranger in full armor seated atop it. Like Bolders and Dominguez, his armor had a lot of battle marks on it.

"Private Peregrine, sir."

"Mortekai, please."

"Mortekai," Rem assured.

"Fresh out of Ranger Center?"

"I'm a deployed Ranger. I just earned my armor."

"Oh, alright."

Up close, Mortekai's voice was even weirder. Was it his helmet? No, it must be the glass. Yeah, the glass.

"Sir, I have to ask," he reached forth and knocked on the glass, which was bulletproof, probably taken from the post office and put here, "What's goin' on wit' this glass?"

"They haven't told you yet?"

"Uh, no, sir."

He breathed out, "Heh, they have a dandy old time with this. Especially Dominguez, that dumb ass."

Without further adieu, Mortekai reached up towards his helmet and began pulling it off. Rem watched closely, and the moment that there was a gap between the helmet and the ridges it settled into, an emerald glow emanated from within.

The helmet finally came off and Rem was staring at a glowing ghoul who hadn't lost his sentience. Now he understood why Mortekai was the _brightest _guy in the detail.

"It's for your own good, what with the radiation I let out."

"Oh shit . . . "

"What, never seen a glowing ghoul before?" As he asked, his helmet thudded onto the desk he was seated in front of.

Now without the helmet, Mortekai's voice was easily dissected. There was a ghostly echo that followed after it. That was definitely something he wouldn't want to hear at night, all alone somewhere.

"No sir . . . I mean," he answered, forgetting to call Mortekai by name.

"I have, Mortekai, I just ain't ever seen one still . . . yew know, normal. All the ones I ever seen are always tryin' to rip people to shreds."

"Yeah well, first time for everything."

The openings in Mortekai's skin gave way for portions of meat that readily glowed with that same, emerald brilliance, and while Rem stared, there was silence. Mortekai's eyes stared into his guest's visors for a good long while before suddenly, he drew his revolver out from its holster on his hip and fired.

Rem flinched and nearly ran for cover, but stopped when he realized that the glass had stopped the bullet.

"What the fuck is wrong with yew?"

Bolders bellowed laughter that they both could hear all the way from the living room.

"Sorry kid, I thought you were falling asleep," he mocked.

Rem watched in astonishment as Mortekai spun the revolver around his index finger and let it fall straight back into its holster. With his head tilted, Mortekai returned the glance. Nothing was said again.

"Am I gonna have to knee cap you to keep you awake, kid? Or should I blast you with radiation?"

"No," answered Rem.

It wasn't his intention to be silent, but he found himself unable to come up with what he wanted to say.

"We're done talking?"

He breathed out and composed himself, and even though he was still processing if whether he even wanted to have a conversation with a person who made sport out of shooting at people, the pressure that Mortekai put on him convinced him to just talk, even if it was just the first question that came to mind.

"How long yew been a Desert Ranger?"

"Around a hundred and fifty years," he answered, his right hand lifting off the revolver's grip. "I was there from the beginning, just about. I originated from Vault twelve, made my way east when some of the people there got violent with one another. I eventually arrived at Ranger Center. They took me in, trained me, and here I am."

"Damn, yer from way back then. How come I never heard o' yew?"

"Andre and I have been traveling out east for about ninety years now. We haven't reported in to Ranger Center, and I guess none of the Rangers we've met have gone back to mention us, either. According to Ranger Center, we're either dead or living somewhere far away from here. I don't know if Colonel Watts mentioned us."

"He might've mentioned yew to President Muller, but he only told us we were meetin' higher rankin' Desert Rangers over here."

"Mhm."

"So, what's it like further east?"

"Everywhere you go is a wasteland, kid. There are factions. Some are good, some aren't; same as here."

"Why did yew come back this way?"

"We wanted to see how things were going closer to home. We found Caesar's Legion, so we decided to stick around for the war."

"Hmph," he breathed out in amused surprise, "Never thought I'd meet anybody like yew and Bolders. How old is Bolders?"

"Few hundred. He was part of the Master's army out west."

"Master's army?"

"Ask him about it. It's a damn long story. He's tired of telling it to people and I'm tired hearing about it. You might get lucky, though."

". . . Awright. Are yew a pre war ghoul?"

Mortekai leaned back in his chair, "Shit, if I had known how many questions you would ask if I encouraged you to talk, I never would have wasted a damn bullet. Yes, I'm a pre-war ghoul. Do you know about Necropolis?"

"Nope."

"Necropolis was formed atop a Vault that I took shelter in when the bombs dropped. The damn door didn't close right, so we got hit with radiation. Some died, some turned into ghouls."

"Did all of 'em turn into glowin' ghouls?"

"Nope. I got captured by some Enclave scientists on my way east to where I would eventually find Ranger Center. They put me in a bucket full of liquid radioactive waste to see what extreme exposure to radiation would do to a ghoul. It turned me into this."

". . . Enclave, huh. The wasteland's boogeymen."

"The scientists left me there alone for a few hours and I managed to get the hell out. Escaped into the wasteland, and reached Ranger Center."

"That's one hell of a story."

"That's the short version."

"Uh," Rem paused, "What were the pre war days like?"

Mortekai began putting on his helmet, "That's enough questions for today."

* * *

><p>Once Rem was gone, Sydney was left to move on along the town of Littlefield all by herself. She did so silently, walking past the people that watched her go by without saying anything. There was something about her quiet way of carrying herself that caused everyone who saw her to stay away from her in general.<p>

She didn't get through it without hearing a few murmurs about herself. Some of them, the ones she could vaguely make out, commented on how much less talkative she was than the others.

Her steps eventually led her to the one place she found any interest in. The outskirts of the town, which were decorated by crucified Legionaries.

The same smell that there had been back in Bunkerville, of burned bodies, dry blood, urine, and feces, reached her after entering the vicinity. Her nose scrunched up in disgust before she reached up to her helmet, toggling something that caused the air filter to activate.

With her sniper rifle hanging off the fingers of her left hand, she started to pace from the first cross towards the others, glancing at each of the Legionaries as she did. They looked so pathetic.

One of them in particular had a plethora of injuries all throughout his legs. She could tell that some of the bones had been broken. The thought that the people here had savagely beaten the man and followed it up with crucifixion was harsh, but strangely, she didn't harbor an aversion to that kind of treatment. After what they turned Bunkerville into, they deserved it. .

After she reached the last one, she came to a stop and stared up at the Legionary's face. This one must have been in his late twenties, dead like all the others. For a few seconds . . .

His eyes slowly opened, and Sydney's body tensed. As he came back to life, the cross he was nailed onto creaked in protest, especially when his biceps tightened and attempted to lift him.

This one was different, very different, to the man in Bunkerville that she had killed. His eyes didn't reflect the pain of his body. They reflected anger and an undying ferocity, the type a man might only see on a caged animal.

"Go on, _profligate . . . _stare, learn, fear . . . " He coughed out, but promptly cleared his throat and continued, "This shall be the fate of your men_._"

Because of Sydney's curves up against the jeans she was wearing, he was able to make out that he was speaking with a female. Otherwise, her helmet would have kept it a secret.

"Caesar's Legion will come," he nodded his head slowly, "We will cut a swath across Arizona and well into Nevada."

Sydney sneered.

"We? Being up there must make it hard to see reality for what it is. Whatever the Legion does from now on will be done without you."

"Please, profligate. Legionaries are Legionaries in battle, captivity, and in death. Such is what makes us _strong. _Such is what kept me from spilling when they attempted to torture me for information."

As he spoke, he took a glance down at her armor, noting how different it looked as opposed to the others he had seen. What that led him to believe was that the Desert Ranger he was staring at was new at this.

"In time, you will understand that, the way the others do. You haven't seen it yet, profligate, but there is pain among your ranks, whereas my comrades will not even remember my face as they butcher you."

"So far, the Rangers I've met look like they're doing just fine."

"Perhaps . . . " he answered, his voice growing tired, "But if you truly believe that . . . why not test it? Mention Rebecca . . . to the one they call Dominguez, and watch as the pain strips away the facade. Tell him that she will soon be fit to bear our children, and see it worsen."

The intensity with which he stared at her, and the conviction with which his voice reverberated in her ear . . . planted a seed of doubt in her. She turned away and paced to her left.

"I saw what your friends did with Bunkerville. They left crucified men behind."

"That image will be with you for the rest of your life, profligate. Now, when your men are crucified, all the way to the years you spend enslaved."

"I wasn't finished," she claimed, "My superior and I, we ended the suffering there. You, on the other hand, are still suffering."

"So is Dominguez, and soon, the same will be said of you. Soon, the ones you love will suffer the same fate that your predecessors have suffered for a long, long time. And believe me, you, people who have lost . . . will suffer longer than I ever have, or ever will. You will not see an end to it until the day you die."

"If you're right, we'll have something in common," she answered, drawing her revolver from her hip and pointing it up at his head. Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger and the bullet that burst forth blew a hole through the Legionary's head, splattering blood against the wood behind him.

That sound of her revolver echoed through the whole city. She lowered her hand just as the community wide alarm came on. The improvised car alarm sounded off, letting everyone know that it was time to gear up.

Before long, guards ran into the vicinity and Dominguez followed after them, his laser rifle held firmly in hand while Sydney simply waited.

"What's going on, Sergeant?"

"Sir, I executed the Legionary."

"Sergeant, might I inquire as to why you decided to end the Legionary's suffering?"

As she stared into the Sergeant Major's helmet, his words about Rebecca kept repeating themselves in her head.

"He pissed me off."

The conviction with which he was questioning her softened. Then, he turned to the others and spoke, "Go let everyone know that nothing is wrong here."

"Yes sir."

The other Littlefield citizens turned and left as Dominguez removed his helmet. Now that she could see his face, she couldn't help but keep wondering about what the Legionary had said. Should she mention Rebecca to the Sergeant Major?

_I doubt there's any substance behind it_, she thought.

"What'd he say to set you off, Sergeant?"

"He said that I would suffer more than he has, and that I wouldn't see an end to it until the day I die. I answered saying that if he was right, then we'll have something in common. Then I shot him."

Dominguez cackled.

"I like you already, Sergeant."

After patting her on the shoulder strongly, he turned around and began walking.

"He also mentioned a Rebecca."

The Sergeant Major's body came to a full stop, and he slowly turned around again while Sydney scrutinized him for the response. The look in his eye was vividly different to what she had been used to up until then, and that was when she knew that the Legionary hadn't been lying. There was pain.

"Rebecca?"

He stepped forth, "Is . . . is she . . . did he say where she was?"

His voice became louder, and despair tinged his facial features.

"No . . . "

"No? But . . . wait, if he knows about her, then she must still be somewhere nearby. I have to find her! I don't give a damn what the Captain says!"

It hit her, the damage she had done. She panicked, and searched for the quickest way to remedy it. There was no doubting that if the Captain found out that she caused the Sergeant Major's defection, she would face major repercussions.

"He said she was dead, Sergeant Major."

"What?"

He turned to her, and the look in his eyes lost any and all intensity they may have had before

"But she was only a little girl . . . why would they . . . "

"I'm sorry, Sergeant Major. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"No," he held his hand up, "It's . . . don't worry about it," with that, he turned away again and began walking away very quickly. As he put more and more distance between them, she couldn't help but realize how much of an idiot she had been.

The pain in the Sergeant Major's face stayed with her even after he left.

* * *

><p>The thought of Rebecca being dead, that pretty little girl, with her red hair, green eyes, and her innocent demeanor . . . choked him. Sitting there, alone in a room that was lit by a silver light, Dominguez slowly slipped into a blissful reverie of the day he found her.<p>

She was five years old. Her father had just succumbed to injuries that he received after fighting a group of White Legs. She had nowhere to go, nothing to do other than wait for the horrors of the wasteland to swallow her and end her life.

He also remembered himself during those days.

So much history of fighting, so much time spent losing loved ones; it had left him as nothing more than a shell of a man. There was no soul there, no love. Just hate. Hate for the wasteland and hate for the people who kept feeding into that endless cycle of death and suffering.

Rebecca changed all of that.

The day he took her into his arms and told her everything would be okay, she gave him his humanity back. He became a father for five years, and he swore that he would never let anything happen to her. But then . . . then something did happen, and she was taken away from him, nothing left behind but blood, corpses, and most of all, pain.

A bunch of enraging memories containing the words that Captain Salmons told him manifested. A lot of bullshit about how he couldn't go looking for her because she had been gone for days, and she was likely already in Flagstaff. That hadn't been enough to stop him. He picked death over accepting that Rebecca was gone, but Salmons persisted, urging him to understand that his fellow Desert Rangers needed him.

Who? Bolders? Mortekai?

It hit him suddenly. Bolders had tortured that Legionary, asking for information, and he had likely been told something about Rebecca as well. Anger flooded him over.

_That bastard. He didn't say anything! _

His fingers tightened into fists, but then all of that emotion gradually faded away into sorrow again, into helpless, debilitating sorrow. She was dead.

It became too much, so he stood up and yanked a cabinet out of its slot and dropped everything inside to the floor. A bunch of syringes came out, some of them still full of liquid.

That numb sensation a med-x high could give him was what had kept him sane throughout those days. It was what gave him the chance to replace the sorrow with determination. He needed it.

He stuck a syringe into his thigh and pushed the piston down, ignoring the pain of when the liquid forced its way in. After throwing that one away, he followed up with another and dropped onto his rear again with his back against a wall. There, he waited for help to arrive.

It never did. The tolerance he had built up for it stunted the effect.

_Another one. _

His hand reached for another hypo on the floor and, with a slow but sufficient efficacy, he stuck another needle into the same area as before. The syringe bounced off the floor a few times after he discarded it, rolling away from his body as he pressed the back of his head against the wall.

"Rebecca . . . I'm sorry. I told you I'd give you a better life."

His eyes turned pink, and tears flooded the eyelids, rolling out onto his cheeks as he began regretting having never just left with her. He never should have taken part in this damn war.

Mindlessly, he reached for another syringe and found the last one. With it in hand, he stabbed it into his thigh. The liquid flowed into his body and spread into the bloodstream.

This time, he no longer had the mind to pull it out and toss it aside.

It wasn't until that fourth syringe that the transcendent relaxation reached him. The thoughts that had pained him so evaporated, like hot gas, and the euphoria followed. It felt so good. So free. Rebecca started to disappear from his memory. Those following moments of mercy were just what he wanted to have. It would help him cope.


	26. Celebration

**Mojave Wasteland**

**September 23rd 11:26 am**

**2267 **

"Sergeant Major," Jeremy called, as he knocked on the door. While he waited, he turned off to his left and glanced into the distance, watching people walk by before turning back to the door again.

"Sergeant Major!"

He knocked again a few times. No response. It was odd. The Sergeant Major was usually up by this time.

"Sergeant Major! You there?"

After hearing no response, he shrugged his shoulders and turned around, walking down the steps and heading off to ask around for him. If he wasn't home, then he was probably somewhere else.

Sydney watched him leave. She spent all last night thinking about the Sergeant Major, barely even being able to get any sleep, hoping he would be alright, and that she wouldn't have to tell anybody about why anything had happened.

Now that Jeremy was walking away from his home, it was all but certain.

She walked up to the door once there were few people around and stared into the wood. She was scared, more scared than she had been when she and Rem faced those Legionaries in Bunkerville. Part of her kept begging her not to investigate. She didn't want to be the one to find out, but she had to.

Her hand reached for the doorknob and turned it. It was locked. She withdrew her hand and drew in a breath.

Then, she lifted her leg and kicked it as hard as she could. The door swung open with a loud slam that rattled the walls of the house, and saw Dominguez there with his back against the wall. His armor was off, and his head was hanging low. A hypo was sticking out of his thigh and there were numerous more scattered around his body.

Her heart fluttered.

* * *

><p>The entire town was rattled by the death of the Sergeant Major. Out of all the Desert Rangers who stayed there, he had been the most involved in teaching people how to keep their weapons maintained, among other things. The Captain helped at times, but Dominguez had always been at the helm of it. He was the first face the community saw when the contingent of Desert Rangers was brought up in conversation.<p>

Bolders rarely ever came out to do that because he didn't quite have the charisma, and Mortekai was radioactive.

Damon, Rem, and Pat were each standing outside the post office while Sydney spoke with Captain Salmons inside. All three of them already knew the story. They were there when Sydney brought the Sergeant Major's death to attention and told Captain Salmons that the reason had been because she mentioned Rebecca to him. Now, it seemed like the details of what happened were being fleshed out.

"She looked distraught," Damon commented, breaking the silence between the three of them.

Rem kept his eyes tilted down.

"People die all the damn time. Colonel Watts told you guys that this was what it was going to be like."

"It ain't that simple, Pat. Sydney didn't grow up in the wasteland, like yew did. Yew been' seein' people die all the time fer as long as yew can remember. Her? This is prolly the first time she's been at fault for a friend gettin' killed. Maybe you have, too, but yew've had time to get over it."

"Whatever," she answered, "I'll be near the river. This shit really doesn't concern me."

Damon and Rem watched her walk away, and then the door opened. They saw Sydney walking through, her helmet hanging off her fingers. Her eyes were still pink.

"Sergeant," Rem called as she pushed past him, her facial expression contorting further to the attention she wanted so badly to just not have.

As she walked into the distance, they heard Captain Salmons calling them. Damon and Rem each stepped in, and Captain Salmons was leaned up against the desk that he had in there, his arms crossed over his chest.

Neither of them said anything. They just stood at attention.

"I have a special detail for you, Private."

"Sir?" Rem answered.

"I tried to tell her it wasn't her fault, but I get the feeling that it didn't quite sit in her the way I wanted it to. I want you to keep an eye on her. Talk to her, if you can. We don't want the same thing that happened to the Sergeant Major happening to her. We need everyone to be alright."

"Yes sir," Rem answered, aware that it was going to be a difficult task.

"If you don't mind me asking, sir, what exactly happened?"

The Captain turned his eyes to Damon, "That crucified Legionary she killed yesterday taunted her about Rebecca, who was the Sergeant Major's adopted daughter. We lost her six months ago. She stayed behind with four adults while the Sergeant Major, Bolders, Mortekai, another Ranger you never met, and myself went off to engage a Legionary contingent in the area. We came back three days later, only to find the place ransacked. The men were killed, the women and children were gone, including Rebecca."

Salmons breathed out, and as his eyes tilted down, both Damon and Rem could see that he was envisioning it while he explained, "We reasoned with him to stay with us. She had been gone for at least two days, and children are typically taken to Flagstaff. No way he was going to get her out of there. He seemed alright with it after a while. I always thought he was numbing himself to it, but what mattered was that I still had my Sergeant Major with me. Unfortunately, that Legionary knew the story and mentioned it to the Sergeant, and also mentioned that she had been killed. Crawford then mentioned that to Dominguez, and the last domino toppled last night."

"She didn't know how it would affect Dominguez," Damon answered.

"I know, Corporal."

The Captain seemed fatigued, or maybe just frustrated, "Truth is, even if there had been some kind of fault, I can't go around punishing my Rangers. I need you all to be fit for this detail. That's just how things are. I've already sent word to Bolders and Mortekai about crucifixions. They're to be killed before they can say much of anything."

They each stood there quietly, thinking things through.

"Looks like I'm going to have to get more involved with the locals. Dominguez was in charge of relations, but with him gone . . . well . . ."

"Sir, I have a suggestion," Damon cut in.

"Go ahead, Corporal."

"I would like to volunteer Jeremy to that duty. He's one of the locals. He's got a clear head, he's civil, and I'm sure he'll be fully cooperative."

Salmons nodded his head slowly, "I'll look into that, Corporal. Dismissed."

Both of them saluted the Captain and turned around, leaving the post office. After the door closed behind them, the town somehow looked different than before. It was quieter.

"It didn't even take a damn Legion raid to lose our first man," Rem muttered.

"Yeah. No use kicking up dirt about it. We have our details."

"I read yew," Rem answered, "How's yer detail comin' along?"

"It's coming along very well. I've got more than enough helping hands out there. Pat, too. She's been helping out a lot."

"That's good to hear. I woulda made my trip out there by now but I've been a lil busy. I met the other two Rangers."

"What are they like?"

"They're . . . reassurin', I guess. One of 'em's a mutie. Big bastard, with a huge claw mark on his iron chest piece. Pretty damn sure it was a Deathclaw. The other guy's a glowing ghoul that ain't got any screws loose up there."

He remembered being shot at just then.

"Well, maybe one or two, actually."

"Holy hell," Damon turned to Rem, "Never heard of that before."

"That's what I said. They look capable, 'specially the mutie. He's called Bolders, and the other guy is Mortekai. They don't acknowledge ranks."

"Why?"

"I don't really understand. I mean, they told me, but I ain't makin' much sense of it. Still, the Captain said we're to follow their orders until we're told otherwise. Remember?"

"Yeah."

They reached the outskirts of the town and in the distance, both of them were able to make out the figures that were walking around near Damon's project. Rem could see that there was already a wooden establishment of some kind up on one side of the river. That's where the turbine and generator would be installed.

"Awright, sir. If yew need anythang, just let me know."

"Sure thing, Private. See you later."

* * *

><p>Rem waited a few hours before approaching Sydney. The whole day, she hadn't eaten anything and had found a place that was relatively estranged to the community. An old car dealer filled with vehicles that had long lost their use. A lot of them were much older than the cars the wastelander would typically find. They still used batteries, unlike the typical fission reactors each of them had installed, and that was where the town of Littlefield had acquired all of those batteries that were going to be used to power household appliances.<p>

"Sergeant," Rem called, softly.

Sydney didn't answer as she sat there atop one of the cars. His steps eventually stopped right next to her. After he did, he set his rifle atop the car roof and removed his helmet, letting it hang at his sides as he turned his body to face her from her left. She wouldn't return the glance.

"Sergeant," he repeated.

"The Captain told me I could take it easy for today."

"He also ordered me to talk to yew about this."

"I don't need to talk about it. I know I made a mistake. Nothing else needs to be said."

Rem released a breath, unable to pierce through the outer wall that she had erected around herself. Standing there, looking at her, he couldn't come up with a way to get her to talk about it. It took a few seconds of him studying her blank facial features to finally open his mouth again.

"Yew gonna be able to perform yer duties?"

Her eyelids narrowed, turning to face him as she answered, "Yes, Private." Her intense eyes didn't leave him afterwards.

"I ain't so sure if yer tellin' the truth, Sergeant," he feigned sympathy, because he knew it would irritate her.

"What the hell do you know?"

It wasn't exactly the best way to get her attention, but it was the only way.

"I've been in yer shoes before."

The guilt of getting Emma killed was still fresh, and Sydney could hear and feel the authenticity in his voice. The Private had seen much more than she had, and that sincerity she heard in his voice was similar to how the wrinkles on a person's face may indicate a certain edge on life by the virtue of experience. It boiled her blood.

"Here we go. Go ahead, Rem, bless me with your wisdom."

"First off, I ain't here to help. I'm here to talk, because I know that comin' over here and talkin' to yew about how life goes on, that yew've got a duty to yer fellow soldiers and to the people of Littlefield ain't gonna fix it. Hell, nothin' ain't. The only person here whose got the tools for the repair job is yew. Just like the Sergant Major had the tools."

Her facial expressions contorted.

"Yew can use med x, or yew can use somethin' else. Yew can redeem yerself - - "

"I don't want to redeem myself to you."

"I don't mean me, Sydney. I mean yew. When I got my teacher killed, I got my lashes, but - - "

"I deserve to get fucking whipped for this."

Rem paused. It wasn't her fault, but if she believed it was, he felt there was no use telling her otherwise

"Maybe yew and I are made of different stuff, so take that into account when I say this."

"We're nothing alike."

"Awright fine, but listen anyway, and yew decide if it fits or not."

Rem stepped forward to her, staring into her eyes like he was trying to see what was beyond the horizon.

"When I got my teacher killed, I took my damn lashes, an' yew know what? I _still _don't feel at peace with thangs. What's a few damn skin cells and blood as opposed to someone's _life?_ Huh?"

His hand lifted and he pointed his finger down at her cheek, his face inches away from hers, "Redemption's in yer hands. Not the Captain's, not in mine, not in anybody else's but yer own. I plan on bein' the best damn Desert Ranger I can to make up for gettin' my teacher killed. Maybe after I've saved a few hundred people, I'll feel awright. What about yew? What are yew gonna do to get redemption, Sergeant? Yew gonna suck it up and make sure yew don't make any more stupid mistakes as this detail continues? Or are yew gonna let it bring ya down?"

She stared at him silently.

"What are yew gonna do?"

" . . . I . . . I don't know."

"Well yew need to figure it out, Sergeant. Cause if yew feel this is yer fault, ain't nothin' gonna ever make ya feel otherwise. Best yew can do is find out what's gonna help yew cope, and do it."

She glanced at him one last time.

"And killin' yerself ain't gonna cut it."

As he turned around and began leaving, she stared at his back, thinking about his words as tears began forming in her eyelids. Captain Salmons had told her that it had been the Legionary's work that caused the Sergeant Major's death, but Rem had avoided trying to lift the blame off her shoulders and instead, he pointed out what mattered.

How would she get past this? Her eyes went gentle as she turned away from him, glancing into the floor in front of her.

* * *

><p>"And we're in business!"<p>

The people that were standing there, surrounding the small hydroelectric plant that Damon had erected on one side of the Virgin River, cheered loudly. Damon straightened out, holding one of the car batteries in his hands, fully charged and ready for use in one of the households.

Rem's eyes trailed from the plant itself, which was almost like a small wooden home meant to house little people, towards the pipe that spanned upstream. A few yards further up, a wooden dam was put into place to direct the water a certain direction and within that dam, the pipe, which was also called the head, was installed. In front of it, there was a trash rack that would keep out any unwanted debris.

Water flowed into it all the way down towards the plant, aided by gravity. There, it would pour into the turbine, causing it to turn, and then the turbine would turn the generator.

The result was the mildly triumphant gleam in Damon's eyes and the excitement in everyone's voices.

These people hadn't been living here for long. Littlefield started off as a community of nine people until the Desert Rangers came around and discovered the abundance of car batteries in the car dealer. With the promise of better living, they lured others in, who were eager for a chance to find a long term home.

Many milestones had been made. First when formidable weapons supplies were acquired, then when Captain Salmons concocted the community wide alarm, then when more people started to show up. The culmination was thought to have been when they fought off their first Legionary raid of eight men.

Now, there was something else to give them hope.

To appease the community, Captain Salmons and Sergeant Major Dominguez had repaired many household appliances to proper working order. Old televisions where movies may be played, music players, and even air conditioners. All that was needed after that was a good source of energy, and fission batteries were damn hard to find. Those were amenities that your average wastelander could never even dream of having on a consistent basis.

For what felt like years, these people had stayed there only on a promise that soon, they would be living like the people who existed before the Great War. Soon, Littlefield would be a place where men and women could raise children.

It was finally happening.

Rem couldn't help but smile under the black helmet he wore, looking from one happy face to the other, astonished by the excitement on everyone's face.

"When we have enough batteries, we'll hook them up and every home will come active at the same time! Understood?"

There was something in Damon Rem hadn't ever seen before. He could tell that the Corporal felt a deep sense of accomplishment after this, understandably so. The way that the people in the community cheered him on was superfluous for him, in a good way.

Even Liz had a smile on her face about it.

Rem's feet guided him in her direction, partly because she was the only one who looked like she would hear him if he said something to her. The others were too busy being excited.

"Can't wait to lay around with that air conditioner runnin'?"

"Hmph, I don't care about that."

"Why yew so smiley then?"

She continued staring ahead, and then Rem followed her gaze onto a young man, probably fifteen or so.

"You see him? The kid with the black hair? That's my little brother. If he's happy, then I'm happy."

"Well, that makes sense, ma'am."

"Liz," she corrected.

_What the hell's up with everyone and bein' wanted to be called by their first names? _

"Awright, Liz."

Pat smiled to Damon from a comfortable distance. She wasn't the type to bunch up together with a group of people that were as excited as everyone seemed to be. Damon glanced back, returning the facial expression before he went on about charging the rest of the batteries.

That night, those batteries were hooked up to the houses. Two were allotted to each household to promote a lasting charge in each of the batteries, and . . . families watched movies.

As Rem paced along through the town late at night, running his assigned patrol, he could hear people laughing from within their homes. Others played music loud enough to be heard well out into the streets. Captain Salmons was one of them.

The guards that stood on the improvised towers, watching the perimeter from up high, tapped their feet to some of the sounds.

But there was one particular house that was different from the rest. There were no sounds coming from it, and it wasn't Bolders' and Mortekai's home. It was the establishment that had been allotted to Damon.

There, he and Pat made love while music played softly in the background, unheard to the outside.

Rem walked past, unaware that this wasn't only a night of jovial celebration. It was also a night of passion.

"Private," he heard.

He turned around and found Sydney standing there, her helmet hanging off the fingers of her right hand, her rifle off the other.

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"You were right. You always are."

He didn't answer. There was a certain confusion in his expression that she surveyed fleetingly before continuing.

"You've been saying and doing the right things since the day I met you. It's time I started showing you some respect."

"What? Yew don't need to say anythang to me, Sergeant."

"Call me Sydney."

_Aw hell, another one. _

"The truth is, you've been around more than I have. It was stubborn of me to reject the things you say. I think . . . to be honest, the reason why I was so defensive around you is because of how old you are. You're only seventeen."

"Turnin' eighteen next month. So yew might as well round to the closest year, if it helps ya."

"Whatever," she answered, "You're younger than I am, and I felt pissed off that you were assumed to be better than I am at doing my job just because you've been out longer than I have."

"Sydney, yew don't gotta say anythang more. I ain't sore at ya."

"This isn't just for you. It's for me, too."

He lowered his rifle and held it with one hand.

"But I understand now that I shouldn't have been so caught up on the idea that you're considered to be a better soldier than I am because you fight better or something. It wasn't about that. It was more about you understanding what it's like to be out here, all the idiosyncrasies involving soldiers and the things that they go through. That's why you're qualified to lead over me."

At this point, Rem could only listen in silence.

"That being said, thank you. For being patient when I was being an asshole, and for the words you shared back there. I really needed them."

"Yer welcome, Sergeant."

She stared at him silently.

"Sydney, I mean. Yer welcome. If there's anythang else you ever need to talk to me about, yew let me know, awright?"

"Copy, Private."

An awkward moment ensued between them. Rem seemed oblivious, and it didn't hit him for a while that maybe there was something she was expecting.

"Rem, Sydney. Yew can call me Rem."

"Understood."

Just like that, she turned her back to him and began walking away from him. Rem was left behind unsure of what he should be thinking until after a brief rumination, he decided he should feel proud. He knew he had handled Sydney's situation just right.

It was a huge relief to find that out.

He understood that she wasn't over the Sergeant Major's death, but she was already doing her best to make up for her mistake. Everything was getting better.

* * *

><p>From a fair distance, Littlefield looked different. One of its portions, where the community was settled, was alight with activity. It was very different to what the place had looked like the night before.<p>

"It would appear that they've uncovered a suitable source of energy."

Three Legionaries stood there, each one of them abreast, peering into the distance while the one all the way to the left passed on a pair of binoculars.

One of them looked through both of the glasses.

"It would appear so."

He continued searching.

"Is there any sign of what that power source is, Bacchus?"

Bacchus' dark eyes continued looking through all of Littlefield. It took a few minutes of searching between the three of them until they found it. One of the citizens branched out of the town itself and headed for the river. Bacchus' gaze followed him all the way until he arrived at his destination and saw the hydroelectric plant.

"I see it. They're getting their energy from that concoction they've erected on their side of the river."

He handed the binoculars over to his subordinate.

"It would be wise for Littlefield to be eliminated as soon as possible. If their numbers inflate, they could become a real threat," Bacchus reasoned.

"And the mutant?"

Bacchus' eyes narrowed, thinking back on the encounter that he had with the Super Mutant they called Bolders. He and another unidentified figure, by themselves, had lain waste to a camp of sixteen Legionaries.

To put it simply, he was deeply aware of the fact that the Super Mutant posed a huge problem, but that in and of itself wasn't all they had to worry about. Minutes before those sixteen men were killed, each of them had erupted into vomiting fits typical to when men are exposed to heavy doses of radiation.

"He will be dealt with," the Centurion uttered. "And it will be done swiftly."


	27. High Town

**Mojave Wasteland**

**September 5th 6:40 am**

**2267**

The next morning came along smoothly. Everyone seemed to still be drunk from the night before, and not because they had all indulged in alcohol. The night that they had spent listening to music, watching videos, and enjoying that better quality of life still lingered in them in subtle ways. One nuance of it was present in their slouched shoulders, which indicated relaxation. Another was in the extra smiles and giggles that were distinguishably absent before.

Rem and Sydney could even see it on Captain Salmons as they stood there in his office, waiting for him to tell them why he summoned them there. He looked as though the weight of the ocean had been lifted from his shoulders.

Sydney, in standing next to Rem now, felt the need to cringe when she thought back on what she admitted to him the night before. At the time, when her emotions were rampant, an apology seemed alright, and it still partly did. However, that shower of compliments that she recklessly stacked on top of it felt superfluous in retrospect. It frustrated her when she concluded that what was done was done, but eased herself by resolving never to say more than she needed next time. Especially not to Rem.

"Now that we've got the power running, it's time we started doing some recruiting," the Captain's voice rumbled at them with the calm, leisurely tone. "There's a place up north where the Veterans Memorial Highway and the Highway ninety one meet called High Town. A representative of theirs said that they would consider moving here if the conditions were right."

As the Captain's hand extended along the desk in front of him, dragging a map to the edge, Rem asked, "Sir, is it really alright if we go 'round lettin' whoever join our town?"

Salmons brought both hands back to his lap.

"Dominguez spent a good deal of time with them. They're just survivors out to live peacefully more than anything, and are ready to protect what they have. That description fits us, as well. We're two sides of the same coin."

After a brief pause, Rem felt satisfied. To show it, he lifted his helmet, which had been hanging off his fingers, and set it atop his head. The contours inside encapsulated his skull as Sydney, already wearing her helmet, stepped forth and reached for the map.

"I marked the location for you there. When you're within, say, half a mile and everything around you is clear, fire off a shot so they know you're coming. They don't like it when people come close unannounced. It'll save you the headache of being treated like a complete stranger. They might still be wary, but not as much as they would be otherwise."

Sydney opened the map and glanced into it, studying the direction that was laid out on it to where both highways met. In the midst of that, Salmons spoke to them again, "Oh, another thing; since you guys did so well together when the Private was in charge, we're going to keep it that way."

"That's fine," Sydney answered. Rem's head slowly turned until her mask was reflected in his visors.

"Sir," she eased at them, once she realized that her attempt at a subtle display of frustration wasn't so subtle.

"Dismissed. Oh, and Private . . . do whatever it takes."

Rem lifted his repeater off Salmons' table and held it in his left hand before saluting with his right. Sydney saluted as well, then followed Rem out the door. Andre was there, and given that his stature, and appearance, was most certainly not unassuming, both of them briefly paused the rhythm of their steps to acknowledge him.

"Bolders," Rem played off being slightly startled by the sudden revelation of a big green monster.

"Kid," he answered smoothly. Then, as Rem walked by and Sydney followed, he corrected himself. "Kid_s_." Sydney seemed to respond out of courtesy more than anything, "Sir."

The seconds it took for her to walk past him slowed, as if a jet of adrenaline had been instantly pumped through her entire body at once, and it allowed her to make out other, more awe inspiring features innate to Andre, the first one being that claw mark on his iron chest plate.

As the two young Desert Rangers put more and more distance between them and Salmons' office, Andre turned and stepped inside, lowering his head so that he would fit through.

"Andre," Salmons called before his visitor had even reached the desk. "I want you and Mortekai to scout in Bunkerville's direction. If there's a force headed this way, I want to know. If you get a chance to wipe a few of them out, you've got the green light."

"Sure thing," he answered with the kind of nonchalance only a person who wasn't afraid to die would have. Salmons got caught up staring at the green giant's broad back after he turned and started to leave, thinking about the things he had witnessed him do when Andre broke him out of his trance. "Just don't get wiped out while we're gone or anything. This is four less trained soldiers to defend the town."

He drew in a breath and released it along with his words, "No problem." Then, he stood up, knowing that with most of his Desert Rangers departed, he would have to be more involved on patrols along with Damon.

* * *

><p>The trek from Littlefield to High Town was as uneventful as Rem hoped it would be. The worst of what they encountered was a coyote, which looked ready to attack when it was spooked away by gunfire. Had it been any other situation, Rem wouldn't have wasted the bullet and killed it before saving the meat for a future meal. Because he had been asked to leave Louise behind, however, he wasn't willing to carry more than he needed.<p>

"I see it," Sydney declared.

Rem was staring forward, straight at the same thing she was watching. There, he could see vague outlines of the establishments of High Town, all constructed atop a pre war highway.

At first, with how decrepit and old the concrete used for the highway appeared at a distance, Rem thought it was a horrible idea to make a home out of that place. The closer he got, however, the thicker he realized the pillars that held it up were. Clearly, they were prepared to go more than a few more rounds with father time before they considered crumbling to the floor.

Before stopping beneath the town, two ambassadors were lowered to the ground with the use of an improvised cart. The pulley at the apex of the elevator squeaked, as if in protest, but never gave way.

One of them was a man in his mid to late thirties with reddish tan skin and thick black hair. His eyes were serene. It didn't look like placidity was an innate quality to him as a human being, but instead, it looked more like a thousand hours worth of dread, pain, and bloodshed had caused it to manifest. Rem knew the eyes of a man tempered by a life of hardships.

The other was much younger, and his eyes contrasted his counterpart's heavily, just as his appearance did. His eyebrows were perpetually tightened, and his lips were always in a sneer. While that mien didn't convey a collected and fierce manner of being in unison like the other male, it did convey complete and utter loyalty. He was ready to die with or for the man standing next to him.

Sydney stood next to Rem until the cart reached the ground and immediately identified that the older one was likely the leader of Littlefield, if not a person with a good amount of authority. He was the first one to say something.

"I'm Nate, and this is Reddick."

Both men stepped off the cart, assault rifles in hand. Each of them was wearing leather armor, and they watched their visitors closely, noting their otherwise clean armor when compared to Dominguez and Salmons. They also carried small sacks on their backs, placed so that they wouldn't be much of a hindrance, and these, they speculated, were filled with supplies ranging from food to ammunition.

"You fired off a shot. I told Salmons to do that if he ever came back, or sent somebody. I'm guessing he got the lights working in that town he was setting up."

"He did," Rem answered. "I'm Private Peregrine, and this is - - "

"Sydney."

Rem's helmeted skull adjusted so his eyes would allow him to see her after she cut him off. For a second, he thought about why she had stopped him from introducing her with her rank. The very first, and arguably the most mundane, idea that crept into his mind was that she may have had one of those interest at first sight moments with Nate, but then he imagined up a more likely motive.

She didn't want to be introduced as a Sergeant that's under the orders of a Private.

"Welcome to High Town," Nate said, nodding his head at them nigh imperceptibly.

"Thank yew, sir. I'm guessin' yew know why we're here."

"I do," a pause followed, during which Nate drew in all the air needed to inflate his lungs entirely. After releasing, he began the unfortunate answer he knew he had to give from the very start. "The people of my town aren't ready to leave this place."

Rem's head tilted. Nate waited for what he knew was coming- a rebuttal of some kind.

"With all due respect, sir, yer High Town looks nice an' safe tucked in the clouds, but the huntin' don't look much promisin' up there. With them Legionaries flowin' into the area in numbers lately, it ain't gonna be long 'fore they take interest and either bring yew down to their level, or just set up camp down here until yer people come on down on their own, or die o' hunger."

"Yes, yes, these are things I've already told my people, but just as you never know if whether a dark gray cloud in the sky will bring rain or just thunder, or even nothing at all, the situation here is less discernible than it seems. It's not that we don't want to leave, it's that we have problems."

"What kind of problems?"

Nate turned his attention to Sydney, "The largest family in our community lost two members recently, taken captive by raiders in the area. They will not budge until their hands are red with blood, whether their family members are returned or not."

"They want something in return for the captives? What do they want?"

Rem stood by, listening closely while Sydney asked all the right questions.

"I'm not entirely sure. They're not telling me everything, although I've heard the word recipe thrown around." As Nate casually stepped towards his left, he gently carried a curious glance onto Reddick.

"Recipe? As in, a chem recipe?"

"I don't know. It could be," he turned back to Rem.

The two Desert Rangers stood silently, thinking about what they heard until Sydney finally said something, "Give us a moment." She turned away, walking a few steps, and Rem instinctively followed, knowing she had something to say meant for his ears alone.

"I'm not sure we want to recruit a bunch of chem runners, Rem."

"I'm none too thrilled about it, either, but we don't know if it's a chem recipe fer sure."

"What else can it be? You think those raiders are taking hostages over a recipe for an apple pie?"

Rem, instead of becoming angry at her disdainful sarcasm, chuckled gently at it. Even though he couldn't see her eyes, he knew she was dead serious about this. She wanted for them to turn and leave.

"If they'll say what it is, we'll help 'em. If they don't . . . I'll see."

"But what if - - "

Before she could finish, he had turned around to face Nate again, and had walked closer to him as well. It was enough for Sydney to stop herself from giving the rest of her statement a voice.

"If that family will tell us what that recipe is for, we'll see about helpin' 'em. If dealin' wit' some ornery raiders is all it takes to make an alliance that'll benefit yer people and ours, I don't mind it one bit."

The calm enthusiasm with which he conveyed that message sounded positively lethal. That was something born of the deeply rooted and dark hatred he felt for those swine.

"But first, I'll also need to be sure that if we rectify this, they'll come on over to our town."

Reddick finally stirred, if slightly, and almost in a way that was easily missed. His steps carried him towards his right, strafing by Nate until his shoulder faced Rem. The motion seemed almost casual if not for instinct, which gifted the three others with the almost supernatural sense that he was getting ready to say something, and say something he did.

"It's a Slasher recipe. New kind of chem."

Nate was glancing sideways at him and slowly turned his eyes forward and down, pensive.

"I know you're probably thinking we're a bunch of chem addicts, but a Slasher recipe can net a sober person a lot of caps, too. We were looking to sell it off for a hefty sum, not find a place to make and sell it regularly. Help us out and we'll come to your town. One thing though, two of us will go with you. At least _some_ of their blood has to end up on _our _hands."

Nate took a back seat to the conversation at that point while Rem considered the suggestion. The first thing that came to mind was an incident he clearly remembered. It involved Pat, and a particularly problematic display of a lack of discipline.

"That don't sound half bad to me. We'll do it on one condition. If two o' yew are gonna tag along, I'm in charge. If I tell ya to hold yer fire, yew do it. If I tell yew we're gonna wait a lil bit 'fore we tear 'em a new one, yew wait. If yew can give me yer word on that, I'll make sure yew get the blood yer wantin'."

Reddick gave pause at the demands the Desert Ranger made. His eyes trailed downwards to the floor while his facial expressions conveyed that he was in deep thought. Then, after some careful consideration, and after making note of Sydney's sleek sniper rifle, he began nodding.

"We can do that. But you better keep your word, too," in unison, both his hands pushed his assault rifle up towards Rem's chest as if to somehow amplify his statement. "We want our fair share of the action."

"I never break my word. 'Sides, I've got the damnedest dislike fer raiders, so you can be certain I'll be just as eager as yew are to kill 'em off." Speaking about killing raiders again caused his voice to descend into a low growl.

"Another thang, yer sure they'll wanna move?"

By then, the way that Rem spoke when it concerned the captors of his family members reassured him that he absolutely meant it. It left him bereft of all doubt.

"I'm sure," Reddick answered. "We were actually already planning to go before this happened, because of the Legion. So once this is settled, I don't see why the hell we would stick around. Especially if the living over there is as nice as Salmons said it was going to be."

With no further adieu, Rem responded with a dose of calm finality, "Well awright, go and git ur other man. Oh, another thang, git that recipe. Tell yer boss that without it, the chances of gettin' them prisoners out alive are slim to none. If he ain't so keen on it, tell him I ain't plannin' on lettin' the bastards have it anyway, so he don't have to be so scared."

After Nate and Reddick boarded the makeshift elevator again and started rising up to High Town, Sydney turned her body in towards Rem and stood right in front of him, talking up to him in close proximity.

"What if he's lying? What if they _are _a bunch of chem addicts?"

"I think that if there woulda been a bunch of chem addicts livin' here, the report Dominguez wrote fer High Town would include the words: Buncha chem addicts." Sydney rolled her eyes under the mask and turned away from him. Rem continued talking to her ear.

"I'll trust his judgment fer now. Another thang, even if we walked away, yew heard. They were already plannin' to go on over to our place once this problem of theirs is settled. In other words, they're comin' one way or another. I doubt the Captain would turn 'em down, so we may as well be in good standin' with 'em when they git there."

Ten minutes later, they heard the disquieting sound of that elevator lowering towards ground level again. On it, there were two men. Reddick and Stanley, both of which looked very alike, only Stanley appeared older. He, too, wore leather armor that looked a lot like the one Reddick and Nate were wearing.

When they reached the ground and stepped out, Rem and Sydney studied the new one. He carried an old assault shotgun in one hand and had the same look in his eyes as Reddick did.

"We're ready," he called out. "Those fucking assholes are northward about a mile from here. We brought the recipe."

Rem nodded once but remained silent while he assessed him. He spoke forcefully, and his voice made it clear his anger had a good grasp on his demeanor. For a second, it was concerning.

"Awright. Let's git movin' Sydney."

With her rifle held steadfast in both hands, she followed behind her commanding officer, walking past Stanley's interested eyes.

* * *

><p>Eighty years of traveling together had a way of fusing people so thoroughly, most others could never truly fathom the extent of it because their life spans would never allow it. Andre and Mortekai were two long lived individuals whose lives yet continued, along with their companionship. For them to be walking side by side was as natural as the sun baring down on the ground of the Mojave.<p>

The two of them could travel for days, not hours, but days, without saying a single word to each other, and without ever forgoing that subconscious certainty that the other was never too far away. They worked like a pair of lungs in unison, or like a pair of hands prodding at a small device in an attempt to get it up and running.

As Mortekai stopped to examine a bullet casing that he saw on the floor, nearly buried by dirt, Andre turned over his shoulder and waited to hear if he had found anything of interest.

The ghoul's gloved fingers glanced along the smooth texture of the object and then he removed his helmet, setting it on the ground under him before he lifted the bullet casing to his nostrils. Surprisingly, his olfactory senses still worked just fine despite his problem with necrosis, and it didn't smell like it had been fired recently.

He shook his head to let his partner know that he hadn't found anything good and placed his helmet back on. The super mutant turned ahead again, fluidly returning back to the task at hand, which involved finding evidence that a large group of people had gone by the area recently.

At the rate they were going, they would end up walking all sixteen miles from Littlefield to Bunkerville to find anything, and in the end, it didn't bother them at all because after having lived for so long and after having accomplished so much, they had ascended beyond that blinding hatred towards potentially wasted time.

Were one to watch them go along, they would appear like RobCo contraptions able to do nothing more than perform their assigned functions, never tiring, never becoming bored, and never losing focus because of frustration.

Like it always did, that positively mechanical effort they poured in paid dividends. Mortekai's careful searching eventually led him to stand a couple of feet away from a telling landmark on the floor.

"Andre," his ghostly voice echoed.

The small notion that his partner had spoken was enough to tell Andre that something of worth had been found. He turned around and walked right up to what Mortekai was looking at. It was the remains of a campfire.

Andre then turned his head, searching the area around it for more clues in silence. Mortekai seemed to do the very same once his ally saw what he saw. It wasn't until they began finding evidence that tents had been planted all around the campfire that they began having something of a conversation.

"Tents. They made holes here."

In response, Mortekai squatted over four holes aligned in rectangular fashion and answered, "Here, too. I've counted three of them."

Andre turned his head to his left, where he counted another. "I've counted four."

Mortekai, at that point, turned his body entirely to Andre as if to begin their assessment, "Too many for just eight. I'd say there were sixteen of them here."

Andre and Mortekai had done a lot of Legion scouting by then, and were very aware of their tendencies. They had come to understand that the smallest Legion parties, called Contubernia, would have eight members in them. When larger groups were encountered in these areas, it was usually because a number of these small eight man contingents had come together for an undetermined amount of time. They believed it was usually done to exchange intelligence, or to attack a large group.

From what they saw in this camp, the number of tents that were used was too much for one Contubernia, but just enough for two.

"Mhm," Andre concluded, before the two turned their heads in opposite directions. They each went on about searching again, this time hoping to find tracks that would tell them which way they had gone. That, however, was more of a guessing game. It would be difficult, if any tracks were found at all, to discern which ones led those Legionaries to this camp and which ones had taken them away from it.

Mortekai stopped in one place after taking one last good look around. Beneath his helmet, his eyebrows, which were nearly invisible both because he was a blonde before the mutation and because some of it had started falling, rose. "Hm," his voice echoed as he arrived at an understanding.

"Easier than I thought it would be," Andre commented, naturally certain that he had arrived on the same page as his decrepit partner.

Mortekai's stepped forth, and neither of them elaborated any further on their conclusion. Simply, both of them converged and began walking in one direction that they had chosen unanimously.

There were tracks that led to this camp from the direction of Bunkerville, and another that didn't exactly point towards Littlefield, but did go in the same relative direction. From what it looked like, these Legionaries who had been here were going to go around the town and do some scouting from a distance . . . unless something was done about it.

* * *

><p>"I take it this ain't yer first visit?"<p>

While Stanley walked just ahead of Reddick, and almost right beside Rem, his eyes were sloped downward. Sydney, who was leading the group, kept an eye on the path ahead and around them.

"It's not. Shannon and Theo came here to sell the recipe, but to be safe, they didn't bring it with them just in case these bastards wanted to get dirty and kill them for it instead of paying up the caps. That's exactly what they ended up wanting to do, but when they saw that the recipe wasn't on them, they decided to detain them so that they could be traded for the recipe later."

Reddick began adding to the story once his cousin paused, "So three of us came to check things out, and we were greeted by these assholes demanding the recipe for them. We were ready to start shooting when they brought Theo out and put a gun to his head. We told them we'd be back."

In the near distance, the presumed establishment where those raiders waited for the trade off became visible. For Rem, it came to focus just as he posed a question, "How long has it been since then?"

"Three days," Stanley responded, and added, "There it is."

The location they were headed in was a large patch of dirt clear of plant life with automobile carcasses littered about. On the eastern end of it, there were three bungalows, one of which was in better condition than the other two. When Sydney held her rifle up and used her scope to get a better look at it, she saw the raiders.

A few of them were floating around it like wayward butterflies. Then, they would bark at each other from a distance and laugh into the air.

"I see them."

Rem's head turned slightly, "Give it here, Sydney."

She turned and handed over her rifle. Rem took it with one hand because his other was occupied with his repeater and held it up awkwardly, applying his eye to the scope, seeing what she had seen before.

"Hm," he noted. "They ain't like the kinds o' raiders I'm used to seein'."

Sydney took her rifle back while Reddick spoke, "They act like raiders, so that's what we've been calling them."

"They're Great Khans," Rem elaborated. "I heard some stuff about 'em recently. The description fits. Horned helmets, black leather vests, crazy hair an' all."

Eventually, Rem's steps came to a halt. There was a lot of nothing but open space between them and where the Great Khans were camping out. If anything was going to be done, they needed a retreat point that would offer cover.

"This way, everyone," he called out, turning immediately to his right. "Ain't nothin' but open space here, an' I don't like it. We'll approach them from the west end of their lil encampment. We have cover from over that way 'cause of all them cars, and 'cause of that buildin' over there, too."

Stanley gave pause and turned to his right, watching the direction that Rem and Sydney both began following. "Pfuh," he voiced, shortly before spitting off to one side. "Whatever you say."

"Thanks fer holdin' up yer end of the deal. Now Sydney, try and study 'em, find out if them hostages are still alive."

Without answering him, she raised her rifle again and did as best she could to walk and survey the bungalow at the same time. Meanwhile, Rem turned and took a good look at the area surrounding them. It was clear, just as he had hoped. While this mission didn't involve Legionaries in particular, the fact that they were in the area made him more anxious that something outside of their plans could happen.

Before Sydney found anything, they arrived at the west end of the location that the Great Khans were.

"Found anythang?"

"No, but now I can stop and take a better look," Sydney answered. "Hard to see details on the move like that, especially when you're not moving towards your target."

The matter of fact tone that she seemed to have did little to bother Rem. At that point, he was becoming accustomed to this. Stanley, on the other hand, made it his business to point it out.

"Girl knows what she's doing, so let's give her some space."

Rem turned his head towards him but before he could say anything, Sydney beat him to it, "I know what you're doing, too."

Stanley's eyebrows lifted as he watched the back of her helmet. All three men turned to her then, in fact.

"What am I doing?"

While Sydney's eye scrutinized the bungalow through her sniper rifle scope, she answered, "Brown nosing. I don't find it particularly helpful."

"Well, fine, you won't hear me backing you up like that again."

His words hung in the air longer than he hoped they would. He never took his eyes off her, waiting for some kind of an answer but when something came, it didn't have something to do with the conversation they were just having.

"They're alive. Male and a female, both with black hair, green eyes. Your family looks very alike. Inbred?"

"Stand down," Rem slashed in before Stanley and Reddick could explode. "Let's keep the chatter on lock from now on, ya hear? If it ain't relevant to our mission, I don't wanna hear it."

Stanley breathed out and turned angrily. The military protocol in the way these two Desert Rangers spoke was alien to him. That fact was all it took for him to dislike it, especially when the commanding officer started barking orders at him like he was one of his soldiers, too.

"Here's the plan," Rem began while Sydney kept her eye on the bungalow. "I'm goin' in alone with that recipe. I'm gonna negotiate a trade fer your family mem - - "

"Whoa whoa whoa, I thought you said you weren't going to let them have it," Stanley answered, his voice rising a few decibels.

"I ain't gonna leave it with 'em. Let me finish what I'm sayin'," he answered. His voice became louder, too.

"I'm gonna git yer family members outta there first, and once I git out with 'em, we're gonna turn right back around and start pickin' 'em off. Sydney'll fire at 'em from here while Reddick watches her back. Yew an' I will go around them and take positions behind that bungalow so that none of these bastards git away. Won't be long 'fore Sydney's fire makes 'em huddle up inside. Once that happens, we'll git in an' finish 'em off. Sound good?"

Reddick cut in for Stanley, "Sounds better than good. We get our family members back, kill them, and get the damn recipe back, too. Can't ask for more."

Sydney lowered her rifle finally and turned over her shoulder. She didn't say a word about it, but she was not in accord. Quite simply, the idea of risking their lives to acquire a chem recipe for these unruly wastelanders didn't settle well.

"Awright, I'm goin'. Yew all wait here."

Stanley handed the recipe over begrudgingly. Rem took it and spoke again, "Sydney, watch my back. Keep an eye on me. Reddick and Stanley, watch Sydney's back. Keep lookin' around, make sure nothin' unexpected comes taggin' along. Yew copy?"

"Copy," Sydney responded. Reddick nodded his head, and his wilder counterpart just stared on. The disdain was vivid in his eyes, sparkling like the sun reflecting off a clean sheet of metal.

As Rem started walking away from them, Sydney looked around and found a vantage point she was comfortable with. Then, before she laid down fully and aligned her eye with the scope, she addressed her inexperienced interim spotters, "Keep an eye out. If things get out of hand, I'll be shooting so frequently that tunnel vision will be impossible for me to avoid."

"Right," Stanley answered lackadaisically. He took one quick, lazy look around and responded sarcastically, "We got barrel cacti closing in on our positions at zero clicks per second. Am I doing it right?"

Sydney's eyes narrowed, and she didn't deign to reply.

Reddick chuckled softly and shook his head, "Dumb ass."

"What?" Stanley protested.

She eventually blocked out their fruitless frolicking and focused on what she was seeing. Rem was slowly coming closer to the bungalow, but he was being very careful about his approach. She could see that he never adopted a pathway that didn't offer him cover. That would have been impossible to do if they had walked straight up to it before.

_You're definitely not as fucking retarded as you sound._

Her thoughts ran wild, and few were fond. They didn't entirely go away until the moment that her commanding officer reached the threshold between traveling to his destination and beginning the actual mission.

"Hey!"

Rem's loud voice reached out to the guards around the bungalow. They turned right and left, back and forth, and eventually pinpointed the source when he yelled to them again.

They all raised their weapons immediately and pointed them at the man who was taking cover around a wall of an establishment a few hundred yards away from their bungalow.

Not all were formidable weapons, at the least. He spotted two men carrying nothing more than machetes in their hands. Two others carried submachine guns and three carried semi automatic pistols in bad condition.

"Take it easy now! I ain't here to cause any trouble!"

"Who the fuck are you?! What the hell do you want?!"

He heard them all yelling at him in unison, their statements overlapping, creating a very hostile air that he was certain would have escalated had he brought Stanley or Reddick along. Still, he didn't have any kind of helpful feeling about that because whatever the case, he still had more than a few guns trained on his position. Armor or not, that was dangerous. His heart started to thump quicker and quicker.

"Come out from there or we're going to fucking shred you!"

They eventually reached him, but didn't come within twenty feet. Once they stopped, Rem peeked out from his cover and began, "I'm here to trade that damn recipe ya'll are so ornery 'bout! Yew want the damn thang or not!?"

One of the Khans, a male in his early thirties with a high blonde mohawk on his head, lifted his hand, gesticulating to his allies to lower their weapons. Once they complied, he answered.

"Yup! Hand it over and we'll give you the piglets."

"I'm sorry, but it ain't gonna work like that!" Rem's body stirred behind cover as he answered.

"Well how's it going to work?"

As the calm question reached his ears, the Desert Ranger lit a match, and then the Khans saw smoke rising from behind the wall that he had taken cover behind. When he slowly came out from it, he was holding an improvised torch in one hand, and the recipe in the other, threatening to light it on fire.

"Let me tell yew a bit o' who yer dealin' with. I ain't a chem addict, so I ain't got no use for this dang recipe. I ain't tryin' to kill ya'll and keep it fer myself. I was hired by some people over in High Town to do nothin' but git their family members back safely, an' fer me to do that, I had to make sure this thang here is the genuine article. Don't want ya'll comin' after me once a transaction is done or nothin'."

For the time being, he liked the distress he saw in the Khan with the mohawk.

"On top o' dat, I'm a Desert Ranger, which is another reason why yew shouldn't be so goddamn connivin' about our situation here. If yew kill me, I got a buncha friends who ain't gonna be happy 'bout it. They're back there," he motioned to where he had come from with a cant of his head, "And they're watchin' through a scope."

At that point, three other Khans arrived, and one of them stopped ahead of the male with a mohawk. Her hair was spiked up in every direction. Her black vest barely covered her breasts, and her left the middle of her torso open for the eyes to see.

"So what the hell's your point?"

As she posed the question, she lifted her handgun and pointed it forward. His body lowered further into cover when she did, his heart continuing to beat heavily enough for him to feel it in his head.

"All that bein' said, it's in yer best interest to do thangs my way. Yew send me them hostages first, I leave the recipe behind for ya'll to collect right here, and both parties walk away with what they want. Ya'll don't have to worry about no one comin' back fer blood, I git them hostages outta here and collect my due caps- square as we can git. We got a deal?"

She stared in his direction for a long while before she turned around and lowered her weapon, "Untie the little pricks and let them go."

"Yer makin' a wise decision, ma'am," Rem encouraged.

Moments later, the two hostages started being led out from the door of the bungalow. Shannon was a teenaged female, but she was clean as a whistle. Theo, on the other hand, looked like he was carrying one hundred pounds of equipment on his back and had taken a tumble down a hill. His legs could barely hold him up, and one of his eyes may as well have been soldered together. His clothes were bloodied, too.

They pushed them past the Khans' that were holding their lines while the female with the spiky hair yelled, "You better not be fucking with me. If that's not the recipe, I'm coming for you!"

"Yew ain't got nothin' to worry about, missy. Yew'll see."

"Who are you?" Shannon asked once they reached the Desert Ranger.

"I'm here with Reddick an' Stanley. Walk past me."

"Okay," she answered, and wrapped one arm around Theo to help him walk.

"Awright missy, I'm settin' the recipe down right here."

Afterwards, he lowered and did as he said he would. To earn some trust, he even put a rock atop it to hold it in place. Then, he slowly started to back track, and the Khans inched forth.

"Hold on! Hold on now!"

They paused, and Rem continued.

"I can still throw the torch on top of the piece o' paper, so wait a little."

Finally, once he had been allowed to backpedal a fair distance, he tossed the torch aside and fell back into cover, peeking over as the Khans reached where he had been standing. The woman with the spiky hair picked up the piece of paper and glanced in the Desert Ranger's direction.

After studying her bounty, she nodded, "Let them go. We have it." With that, Sydney watched as the Khans started to move towards their bungalow again. Rem breathed a sigh of relief and turned around, glancing at Shannon and Theo, who returned the look.

"Awright, we can go now. Follow me."

"He got your family members out," Sydney declared.

"Really? Shit. That's good. Next, we tear them a new asshole," Stanley answered enthusiastically. Sydney's eyes narrowed again.

"We should just leave. You got them back."

Reddick turned his head, but Stanley's answer spewed forth first, "Maybe if they were your family members, you would feel different. Ever think of that?"

Sydney breathed out an exasperated sigh and stood up as Rem arrived, the hostages in tow. Reddick and Stanley immediately walked past Rem and approached their kin.

"Damn it, Theo, why the hell did they beat you up so bad?"

After Reddick posed the question, Shannon lowered and stopped, helping Theo to a seated position while she responded, "His big mouth. He wouldn't shut the hell up, so they wouldn't stop kicking his ass."

"What about you? Are you alright?"

Shannon turned to find Stanley's eyes gazing into hers.

"Yeah," she responded meekly.

"Did they do anything to you?" he persisted.

"No."

"You sure?" This time, his voice rose.

"I'm sure, Stan," she raised her voice in return. "They didn't do anything to me."

"Good," he answered.

Just then, Sydney approached Rem and stood in front of him, whispering up at him.

"We got their family members, now we should leave. You've already risked your life for this. Isn't that enough?"

She heard him breath deeply under his helmet, and knew a favorable response wasn't coming.

"It ain't. I gave 'em my word. 'Sides, if we git back to High Town and tell them that we let them Great Khans keep the damn recipe, this all could be one huge goddamn waste o' time."

"You done?"

Rem turned slowly and found Stanley watching them squarely.

"We ready for phase two?"

The Desert Ranger turned his body away from Sydney fully while she straightened, the front of her body facing towards Stanley's direction now.

"We're waitin' 'til dark. Won't be much longer now. 'Til then, we'll tend to Theo's wounds."

"Why?" Stanley grunted. Sydney lifted her head slightly.

"It's gonna be a lot harder for 'em to see us comin'."

"Are you fucking forgetting that we can't see well when it's dark, either?"

At that point, Sydney had had enough. "Would you shut the fuck up and stop complaining? We know what we're doing."

"Fuck you, bitch," Stanley retorted angrily. His hands on his weapon tightened, but he never did so in a way that would alarm the two Desert Rangers.

"Yew see, that's just plain wrong," Rem finally cut in, his voice much, much calmer than the others'. "They won't be able to see us but we'll see them just fine because our helmets give us low light vision, and I'll keep yew aware of where they are and where they're goin' when we make our move. Understood?"

"Theo's not doing so well, anyway, Stan," Reddick added. "If we don't help him, it'll be harder for him to walk all the way to High Town. And I don't want to carry his ass."

Stanley turned his backs to them and walked towards Theo, "Whatever. Fine."

"In the mean time, don't make any damn noise and don't light no fires. We want 'em to think we're gone."

The others didn't answer, and as Rem began walking away, Sydney turned and followed beside him.

"Thank yew."

Without a pause, Sydney quipped back, "Don't get used to it."


	28. The Centurion

Author's Note: First off, I'd like wish you all a Merry Christmas. I hope you got all the gifts you wanted, and I hope your families were free to spend it together as well. Secondly, I'd like to thank all of those people who have reviewed my story without using an account. I always thank people who review my story with a message, but I can't do it for those who don't review with their accounts there for me to respond to. Other than that, here's the twenty eighth installment. Hope you enjoy!

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 5th 5:55 pm**

**2267**

"Mags, we got your shit. Time to get to work," Irene called out, her voice loud and demanding. Some of the other Khans followed their boss into the bungalow, whose head was styled to look like the business end of a morning star.

Inside, a young woman sat on a chair with a broken down wooden desk before her. On that desk, there were jet inhalers, psycho injectors, and nondescript containers of buffout. She had long black hair that came cascading down the right side of her head, and the left side was completely shaven away, all the way down to the light skin underneath.

"Is that what all the ruckus was about?" she inquired rhetorically, her eyes canting upwards to Irene. When she laid eyes on that piece of paper, a small, sly smile tinged her pink lips. Although time hadn't changed Maggie the same way it had changed Rem, the extent of those changes were nearly equal.

"Time to get to work then," Maggie gushed with a nonchalant enthusiasm, her hands rising to grab hold of the flaps of her black vest and straightening them out so that the shoulders of it sat flat.

Irene placed the piece of paper flat down on the desk with her fingers splayed upon it. Then, she pushed it towards her. Maggie leaned into the desk and supported herself by placing her skinny hands up against the edge of the surface. Her eyes tilted down, and she began reading through the recipe without laying hands on it. The tips of her hair, however, glanced along it.

"You know . . . this might not be profitable if we're trying to sell it."

"Why?" Irene asked heavily.

"Says here we need two stimpaks. Stimpaks themselves are hard enough to get, or make. The banana yucca fruit is easy to find, and so is psycho, but those stimpaks . . . they uh," her voice trailed off as her facial expression became mischievous and playful. Irene's stern stare never changed.

As Maggie slid the tips of her fingers into the pockets of her small denim shorts, she continued, "They complicate things. If we're going to try and sell it, it's going to have to be expensive, and those fucking junkies we deal most of our shit to don't have those kinds of caps."

While Irene's glance finally relented, turning into a narrow eyed glare aimed at the ground beside her, Maggie shrugged slowly, "Don't be so mad. We got it for free, right? At least we'll be able to try it ourselves."

Irene's glance returned, and she saw that loony smile on Maggie's lips. She couldn't help but agree.

"Fuck, whatever. We'll stash the recipe and mention it to our customers. We wont make any of it until people want it."

"Good idea, boss lady."

Irene snatched the recipe up and turned around, starting to walk away when something dawned on Maggie.

"Wait a minute," she called out. Irene stopped and turned, "I mean . . . I can try to make some by substituting those stimpaks with buffout, but who knows how different it'll be."

"That's my girl," Irene answered. She offered up a rare smile before she placed the recipe down on Maggie's table again and walked away, leaving her chemist in the background with her hands still in her pockets.

* * *

><p>When they arrived at the edge of that ridge, stopping at its apex, Andre and Mortekai's eyes surveyed the ground below them and studied that Legionary camp in silence. First, they counted just how many of them there were, and once their preliminary studies were over with, Mortekai spoke first.<p>

"Sixteen of them again. It might be more dangerous for you this time."

Andre's shoulders lifted like enormous rocks and dropped again shortly before he answered, "We didn't leave any survivors, so I wouldn't say they knew what happened in full detail."

"Still, this time, when they start throwing up, they'll probably be aware that a full blown attack is imminent," Mortekai reasoned.

"Since when was being ready for me all it takes to not get massacred?"

"Hmph," Mortekai released his amusement in a breath. "I guess that's right, but still, we should be more careful this time. Don't just come barging in. Take your time and pick a good entrance venue."

"So long as I don't have to come barging in to save your ass because you were noticed too early, it should be smooth sailing."

"Sounds good. See you on the other side whether you live or die, Andre," Mortekai's voice echoed.

"Mhm," the mutant responded as his head turned, following Mortekai's path around him. A few steps later, Andre turned ahead again, and behind him he heard a weird sound that he knew all too well. Almost like static, or a speaker gone bad, but it was neither of those. It was the sound of the ghoul's stealth boy coming on and encapsulating him in a veil of invisibility that would allow him to waltz into that Legionary encampment unnoticed.

Mortekai's steps gradually led him closer and closer to his destination, and the more time went by, the more Legionaries he was able to see. Some of them were resting under the cover of their tents, others were guarding the perimeter, and one other was cooking a meal that Mortekai figured he might help himself to once this was over.

After having used the stealth boy so many times in the past, he knew its limits. One was that it didn't absorb the sounds he made in any way, and another was that if he wasn't careful, someone might be able to see foot prints forming towards one direction, and that was a dead give away.

Still, he had come a long way from his earlier uses of it, when he had to worry about its power running out. Now, he had it hooked up to a fission battery, and the use time he could get out of one of those was more than enough in most cases.

Had he been visible, he would have looked so very strange the way he casually strolled into their territory. His hands were at his sides, hadn't even drawn his pistol, and he turned his head to look at them as he walked by them.

"Acanthus," he heard one say, "How much water have we left?"

"I gathered enough earlier, Claudius."

Mortekai just watched them pass him by as he walked, reminded of the days so many years ago when he would watch the roads go by him as he drove. Eventually, he was inside, right under their noses, meandering about as inconspicuously as the honey mesquite trees that stood upright throughout their encampment.

Then, he came to a stop behind an object that seemed forgotten enough and began releasing his poison. It was a strange process, one he couldn't quite explain, himself. All he knew was that it was almost like being given an extra limb that, though invisible, was still very surely present and he could move it as he pleased.

The pores throughout his skin, which were once meant purely for the release of sweat, began to open up and his insides, which were a raging core of radioactivity were allowed to disperse freely.

That silent killer, much less merciful than carbon monoxide, reached out into the air surrounding him in imperceptible pulses. They passed through the plants around him, through the ground, and eventually, through skin. While Claudius straightened out from his squatted position, Mortekai's radiation was already hard at work attacking the cells that composed his body.

The same could be said for Acanthus, and also for the men who were fast asleep in the tents.

Mortekai stood there for a few long moments before he looked for another opportunity to walk around and get closer to the others. It came when Acanthus abandoned where he was seated to go looking through their equipment in search of a whet stone. Upon finding it, he sat down and began sharpening his spear, just as Mortekai walked by him a few feet away and moved much closer to the Legionaries who had been too far to get a taste of his radiation.

Meanwhile, Andre waited atop that ridge, knowing full well that though he was fairly far away from the encampment, he could get there much, much quicker than any human ever could. It was safer this way anyway, because when a man stands over ten feet tall, it's very hard to not be noticed. Especially with Legionaries involved.

While he lay there on his stomach, occasionally glancing behind him, he played a little game to pass the time. He looked as closely as he possibly could, hoping to spot Mortekai's foot steps somewhere. Upon finding nothing, his lips dipped at the corners.

_If I weren't so far away, I'd be able to spot him. _

The minutes went by and finally, Mortekai's cruel subterfuge started to make itself manifest. Acanthus slid the whet stone across the edge of his spear when suddenly, the world around him tilted and spun softly as if on an axis. He tightened his eyes and shook his head, attempting to rid himself of the dizziness as he wondered if the sun had really been so unforgiving that day.

Another Legionary, named Saturno, stirred in his sleep when he felt onset nausea. His eyes came open and he sat up. Pausing to feel himself out, he had absolutely no clue at all that there was a glowing ghoul roaming their base just outside his tent, moving from place to place to ensure that all the Legionaries there got a dose of his lethal payload.

Sitting there, he glanced out of his tent to see that the day had turned to night since he had been asleep. Then, his vision tilted, and the nausea strengthened.

"Eugh . . . " he breathed out as his stomach tightened and pressed its fluids up along his chest until they burst out of his mouth. The sound of bile dripping onto the floor in chunks alerted another nearby Legionary who subsequently turned to take a look.

At the time, he, too, was feeling nauseated.

Mortekai watched them closely, and he saw something on one of their faces that was absent the last time he had done this. It was in there, mixed in with his fearful facial expression. The way his eyebrows lifted and his eyes focused made it appear as though some monumental realization had dawned on him at that very moment.

When he took a breath to yell, that pang of suspicion was all but verified. Quickly, his knees bent and he started moving to his right, taking cover behind one of the tents while the Legionary screamed his message freely.

"The Ghoul is here!"

Mortekai muttered, "Shit," and felt a brief sense of fear when he realized that now, he didn't have to worry about being so stealthy.

His teeth tightened up and his eyelids pressed against one another firmly as well. The radiation in his body stirred, quickly beginning to churn wildly like a raging river trapped inside a bottle.

Finally, Mortekai threw both arms out and, in unison, that radiation within him was blasted outward in every direction. What the Legionaries saw was a fleeting flash of green luminescence that quickly faded away into nothingness thanks to the stealth boy, and one of them in particular, who was far too close to it, felt his body almost instantaneously reacting to the powerful eruption.

He dropped to his knees and began heaving violently. A sharp, shooting pain shot through his head, almost as if a hot knife had been put through his skull.

"UAAAARRGH!"

That piercing scream echoed throughout the vicinity as the male dropped to the floor and began the painful process of death by radiation. Meanwhile, Andre was very well able to hear that something was happening.

He cast his eyes out to the encampment and took one good look, assessing the positions of the Legionaries until he found one particular route that wasn't so congested. His chin tilted down and with a singular, almost beastly grunt, he shot forth.

The speed with which Andre could run was mercurial, as per his mutation. His mammoth thighs and calves propelled his heavy frame forward as if he were a plane about to take flight into the air, except he never did.

Instead, he kicked up a dust trail behind his steps that, if it weren't dark, would have been much easier to spot until he entered the fray with such precision and speed that the Legionaries were caught flat footed by it.

Claudius felt the ground shake rapidly and when he wondered what it was, he was reminded of the time many years ago when a bighorner charged him. He turned around and found nothing but a pair of huge, green hands reaching out to his face.

"HUH!?"

Holding both of his hands out to stop them from grabbing him was futile. Andre's fingers found purchase on the skin and tightened, his palms pushing inwards as if he meant to crush Claudius' head in his hands.

The veins along Andre's back fists thickened. His biceps bulged and he leaned his upper body forward onto the much shorter Legionary to apply as much pressure as he could. The result was grisly. A single crack etched its way across Claudius skull moments before it multiplied, cob webbing across the bone until the palms touched.

Andre sneered when he felt the blood and the brain matter spilling onto his bare green fingers.

Elsewhere, Mortekai finally let his revolver rip. There were two quick shots in rapid succession followed by a telltale burst of green light.

Acanthus felt the intense blast of radiation seep into his brain as if it was tangible. The pain that shot through it was unbearable, even to a man who had been trained his whole life almost entirely by the virtue of pain. After he dropped to the floor and began writhing, he heard steps leaving him behind to his torturous fate. Beside him, two other Legionaries lay dead, one bullet mark in each of their foreheads.

As Claudius' body fell to the floor lifelessly, Andre wasted little time in searching for another victim. He propelled himself forth and around a tent in search of more Legionaries when a spear went flying his way. As if he were waving cigar smoke away from his face, his powerful right arm raised and slapped it out of its trajectory, causing it to turn away from him before the tip embedded into the ground.

His fingers wrapped around the wood of the spear so tightly they threatened to snap it like a toothpick, but instead, he hoisted it overhead and tilted his body back ever so slightly. Corinthus, another Legionary embattled by nausea and headaches, narrowed his eyes as the fear welled up within him. Still, he never ran, and Andre stared deep into his eyes as he swung his arm forth and threw it.

It cut through the air in a whistle and its journey ended in a thud after it pierced through the metallic chest plate Corinthus had been wearing. As if it wasn't enough, the monolithic strength with which Andre threw the spear absolutely lifted his body off the floor and back a few feet until he fell into a lifeless roll.

Somewhere in the encampment, a Legionary who still had the composure with which to act rationally pulled in deep breaths and released them through a large white horn. The sound that hummed from it could be heard all throughout, garnering Andre's and Mortekai's attention as their feet moved them through the small battlefield that was still in disarray.

Elsewhere, five Legionaries turned their heads. By then, they had already heard the gunshots, but the horn that sounded indicated something entirely different to them.

"It is time," one of them uttered.

Bacchus stood up between them, his fingers wrapping around the handle of a noteworthy iron spear, known only as the thermic lance; a weapon that required skill to wield because of how heavy it was. It was long and, though aged, was still very sturdy. What made it so worth to wield despite its weight was that its tip, when activated by gripping on of the handles, would release pulses of intense heat capable of burning through materials at alarming rates, allowing the blade to puncture targets with relative ease.

The Centurion wore armor that distinguished him from the other Legionaries in the sense that it was adorned with more alien ornaments than the rest. On his left shoulder, he wore a helmet, which had once been bright gray but in time had withered to a dull, dark tone. It once belonged to a Brotherhood of Steel Star Paladin and his T-51b power armor. The glass visor was cracked, and one of the tubes that connected with the oral section of the mask was cleaved off.

His greaves and gauntlets had once belonged to the very same Star Paladin that he had bested in combat so many years ago, and the same could be said for the olive chest plate that he wore on his chest, decorated by an image of a red bull in its center.

Among his subordinates, he was shorter, but underneath that armored exterior existed a man who, even among Legionaries, was much more driven when it came to prepare his body for the fight. When he stepped forth, the rest of them were commanded by his gait alone, and did not require any words as they hoisted their thermic lances as well.

"Make haste," Bacchus finally ordered, leaning forth into a sprint that sent his red cape billowing behind him. The other Legionaries did the same, following relatively closely. He hadn't armed himself with any Legionaries that weren't considered veterans. After all, there was no doubting now that the mutant known as Bolders commanded such respect.

"The ghoul is here somewhere!"

As the Legionary yelled to his allies, he felt something grabbing his left leg. A quintet of fingers grasped so tightly he almost felt the bone underneath the skin fracture. Then, there was a sudden unearthly yank that ripped him off the ground and swept him into the air.

He only screamed for mere moments before he felt another hand grasping onto the same leg, providing firm leverage, and guiding him into what felt like a tree. At about the same time that he heard a nasty cracking sound coming from his back, his consciousness left him, and he was no longer perceptive to the scream that his fellow Legionary released as he was sent flying five feet through the air.

Mortekai entered the clearing just in time to see Andre swinging a Legionary around as if he were some kind of bat, and finishing it off by slamming the body into the ground. The sound of it reminded him of what it was like to slap a wet towel down on a firm surface.

"You alright?" Mortekai's disembodied voice asked.

"I'm just fine. Go make sure nobody makes it out alive."

The sounds of boots leading out of the clearing was enough to tell Andre that he was doing as he was asked, and then he turned his head to see a Legionary writhing on the ground, vomiting and soiling himself in unison while his fingertips pressed into the skin of his head.

"Aaaaagggghhhh . . . " he complained, and Andre's lips twitched subtly, offering up the most subtle nuance of a smirk as he moved by him, fighting the urge to finish him off right then and there by telling himself he would suffer more if he died of radiation poisoning.

He stopped and looked down, glancing into his eyes before he leaned down and wrapped his bloodied fingers around the Legionary's neck. With not even the smallest inkling of a struggle, he hoisted the man up into the air and above his head.

All he heard were gurgling noises, and he could see the despair wrenching the Legionary's facial expression into something ugly, yet deeply satisfying.

That was when he heard slow, calm steps. His head turned to see, and he saw Bacchus with two Legionaries at each side. The calculating gleam in their narrow eyes and the calm way with which they approached him aroused his interest.

With a twitch of his fingers, he snapped the Legionary's neck and let his body fall to the floor.

"It ends here, mutant," Bacchus voice called out, his eyes never even shifting to any of his fallen comrades, his head tilting back to glance up at the giant's firm facial structure. "Where is the ghoul?"

"Away," Andre answered. "You're all stuck here alone with me."

As his dialogue came to an end, the other Legionaries around Bacchus began fanning out, expanding outward towards Andre's flanks as fluidly as water. The mutant immediately recognized what they were trying to do and straightened out.

"Do you really think that's going to help?"

Bacchus said nothing more as he jerked his right shoulder, pushing the cape from there and onto his back, revealing his thermic lance just as the others brandished theirs as well.

"Hmph," Andre breathed out, his arms unfurling from his sides like coils. His fingers opened up, expanding into what seemed like the eerie, crooked branches of a dry tree. Bacchus held no false sense of security when he saw the mutant standing there all alone.

There was a calm just then, when nothing but the wind and the tents that flapped because of it seemed to move. The whole time, Andre's focus was set wholly and entirely on Bacchus. His facial structure shifted, his teeth bared ever so slightly and his lips curled up. The Centurion, had he been any lesser a man, would have had his arms and legs weighed down by the sheer weight of the attention.

That enduring placidity was shattered once the green giant shot forth off his right foot, causing the ground below it to flatten and, furthermore, sink into the shape of his foot.

The Centurion's entire body tensed up and he held the thermic lance forth, fully able to see that he was the target of Andre's charge. His fingers wrapped around the iron handle firmly and thereafter, he pulled the trigger. The tip of the weapon started to crackle and pop loudly as it heated up, and Andre watched as he began backpedaling to give himself room to maneuver.

The others converged on the mutant's back as he went past them and began moving in with predatory strides as they, too, pulled the triggers on their lances and lit them up.

Andre heard the symphony of crackling sounds all around him as he came ever closer to Bacchus and reached out, attempting to slap the spear out of his hands when Bacchus responded with much more efficacy than he had anticipated.

The veteran Legionary lowered the tip of the spear at that very moment, causing Andre to swipe at nothing but air before lifting it back up again, baiting Andre to run right into it if he dared.

At the last second, just when Andre started to hesitate and escape towards his right because he knew he couldn't fall back, Bacchus lunged forth with his entire body and extended his hands forward. Andre watched the lance reach towards his neck instead of his chest, where he was well armored, and tilted his upper body with enough certainty to fall into a barrel roll.

He didn't escape the lunge without feeling the immense amount of heat pulse against that side of his neck however, and when he lifted his titanic body back up to its feet, the Legionaries were already strafing around him like night stalkers surrounding a bighorner, aiming to enclose him in a circle from which there was no escape.

For the first time in his life as a Desert Ranger, Andre felt as though he was the quarry.

His teeth pressed together and in a grunt, he started to backpedal as fast as he could, holding the left side of his neck with his right hand. The Legionaries only quickened their steps, their eyes never leaving him while Bacchus stayed in the middle of the red wave of Legionaries that was attempting to encapsulate their enemy. The ferocity that lay dormant in his attentive mien made it look like out of the five predators, he was the one most thirsty for the opportunity to embed his fangs deep into Andre's neck.

"We have him," one of the Legionaries growled.

"Pointless words will only be a drain on your focus, Septimus," their leader answered. Septimus said no more.

Andre, thanks to his much swifter and much longer strides, was fast enough to gain enough room to start moving towards his left side in hopes of keeping them in front of him. When he did, he watched them fan outwards again in his general direction, never breaking their plan and lunging straight at him. That was when the realization struck that he could easily escape if he needed to, but the thought of running away from men who weren't wielding firearms grated heavily against his pride, which had been tempered by the battles he had been in through a span of over a century.

Finally, his right hand fell away from his neck and he began moving towards the closest Legionary again. Immediately, the others altered their direction and began moving to come in behind him, and to cover his flanks as he came ever closer.

This time, it was Septimus who was being charged at. From underneath black strands of hair, his green eyes stared up at the mutant and he repeated the exact same strategy that Bacchus had executed before. He fell back and held his spear upwards, waiting for the mutant to either stab himself into the fervent tip of his lance or to break his approach.

Another Legionary recognized that if their prey was going to abandon his charge again, he was going to have to roll to his left because Bacchus was very, very close to his right, and so his legs pushed him forth as fast as they could in anticipation.

Andre released a roar of frustration when he recognized that Septimus was holding his position just as well as Bacchus had, and rolled to his left.

Upon pushing himself up to his feet, he heard the sound of a thermic lance crackling behind him. Very, very close behind him. As he began to turn around, he saw the red hue of the Legionary's armor in his peripherals, and the bright pops of the lance's tip as it careened towards his face.

Two shots rung out, and Andre recognized what kind of gun they were being fired from. The lethal weapon dropped inches away from connecting with his face when Bacchus turned his head.

The ghoul was there somewhere, hiding. His calm, should Andre have been able to feel it, would have appeared like an otherworldly ability to never be caught flat footed when instead, the truth was that Bacchus had been waiting for this very moment to happen the second they engaged the mutant. Bolders was nothing short of a monster, that much he knew, but the ghoul was what made them the dangerous adversaries that they were.

His eyes turned small as he carried his gaze along the ground around them, and then he saw what he was looking for. Steps, very light, but still noticeable when being watchful enough. They were moving straight towards them, no doubt looking to get close enough to pump them all full of radiation.

With a grunt and with all of the desperation that imminent death could bless him with, he threw his body forward and swung the thermic lance, struggling to move it because of its heft. The circular momentum that he had swung it in was amplified once it reached the very apex of its journey by snapping his throwing arm forward.

The lance flew much quicker and much more precisely than one would imagine a man could throw such a heavy weapon, and Andre heard the sound of it piercing through armor.

Both Andre and the Legionaries turned to look, but saw nothing. All they heard was Mortekai's ghostly scream and the sound of his body hitting the floor, the scene hidden away by the stealth boy that the ghoul had been using.

Septimus heard was a sweep, like something big was being swung low to the ground, and then he felt a fist crashing straight into his face. He heard and felt the cracking cartilage of his nose, of the front of his skull, and even his jaw. His body hit the floor before an enormous foot planted itself deep into his chest cavity, crushing his heart with one single step.

Bacchus watched the mutant fire forward like a bullet in the ghoul's direction before he gave chase.

Andre, however, was a much quicker runner than they ever could be, and all they could do was watch as his arms lowered like large industrial cranes and lifted an invisible body off the floor. As a result, the stealth boy partially hid his body from view, and he quickly disappeared into the distance, leaving nothing but a trail of dust in his wake.

The three surviving Legionaries came to a stop when it was clear they had been eluded. Bacchus stared into the distance for a while, breathing deeply, as if he meant to wrap Andre's body with a net using only his eyes, and then he turned.

"Shall we search for survivors?"

Bacchus waved his hand, his wavy black hair shifting in response to the motion.

"Leave them," he replied firmly. "I will not have any more of my Legionaries contracting radiation disease."

The three of them turned around to walk away, and as they went, Bacchus lowered to the floor and snatched Septimus' thermic lance from his lifeless fingers.


	29. Unwanted

**Mojave Wasteland**

**September 5th 6:03 pm**

**2267**

Sydney casually carried her eyes from one end of the landscape to another, passing her company by until she stopped and returned it to Rem when she noticed something odd about the way he sat. Perhaps it was because of the armor, but he looked frozen in place, his head turned towards one direction and one direction alone. His rifle sat in his arms with such placidity, his feet never shifted, and his duster didn't even flicker at the behest of the wind. She couldn't help but wonder what was going through his head.

She surveyed him for a few solid moments when suddenly, the light passed away. It went in a fleeting fade that left them with the darkness of night resting atop their shoulders, and it wasn't until then that Rem moved. His chin tilted ever so subtly and his foot, which was placed atop the same rock he was seated on, moved and pressed its sole firmly against the ground. Then, he stood up onto his feet and turned his head straight to Sydney, who in turn leaned forward and stood as well.

Everyone else stirred, too. Stanley lifted his shoulders and rolled them forward, and then whipped his head side to side, cracking his neck audibly. Reddick had been standing the whole time, but he did turn to face them, and to convey that he was prepared, he stepped into their circle and waited for instructions.

Stanley, on the other hand, turned his eyes from Rem to Sydney repeatedly and spoke, "Hegh, finally."

"Everyone remember my instructions?"

Reddick offered up a nod, and so did Sydney. Theo and Shannon both sat in place, watching things transpire until Rem turned to Stanley. The Desert Ranger's eyes were like an arctic chill that caused him to freeze in place.

"Uh-huh. I remember," he answered after an uneasy pause.

Rem nodded, "Awright." When he turned to leave, he made sure to add to it, "Yer with me."

Instantly, Stanley didn't appreciate the tone. From what he read in the atmosphere, it sounded like he was taking it upon himself to keep the trouble maker of the group under control.

Stanley moved away, cleared his nose audibly and spat snot to his right. Then he began a calm strut towards the bungalow until Rem called out to him again, "Not that way. We're gonna go around that thang."

In response, he stopped and breathed out his frustration before turning around and following after Rem. As he passed by in front of Reddick, the young man offered up a mischievous grin, shaking his head until he went by. Sydney, upon watching them walk away, stood and headed for the vantage point that she had chosen well ahead of time and laid down on her stomach.

"Keep yer comms open, Sydney, and wait fer my mark."

"Right."

While Rem and Stanley put more and more distance between them, she studied the bungalow they were assaulting and began counting heads. Then, once she had a number, she began searching the areas surrounding the focal point of their assault in case any of them had wandered off, and found nothing. She wasn't surprised.

The desert was typically known as a place where the heat was unbearable, but surprisingly, the nights were equally as harsh. Not because of how hot it was, but because of how cold it could get. Those Khans were already looking to move inside, start fires, and get ready for the night. Meanwhile, two guards remained outside, covered in thick fur coats.

Reddick stood by her, not saying a word until Sydney finally did, "It's your job to keep an eye on our surroundings. If we get jumped by Nightstalkers or by a Legion raiding group, you'll be held responsible."

"Alright," Reddick answered, turning around to take a look. His gaze stopped right atop Shannon, who tugged back on the roof of her pistol and let it snap back into place. "I'll help," she declared while the shine of determination flickered in her eyes.

Sydney settled into position after that, and her muscles relaxed. Her breath poured out from her mouth, her chest deflating, and then her scope stopped trembling. She found herself feeling glad that she wasn't the one to deal with Stanley.

* * *

><p>Irene's chin dipped down, watching with a pair of dimly lit eyes. Then, her mouth opened, and she tilted her head back, blanketing her view with her eyelids and releasing a breath of pure pleasure. She was leaned up against a desk with her pants down to her knees and her shirt lifted up over her rousing breasts. Below her was Maggie.<p>

While Irene dug through her black hair, her eyes turned to the right side of the tattered office they were in, glancing at the door that was just slightly cracked open. She could see shadows walking by outside. It didn't bother her that the Khans there knew what was going on.

"Ungh yes, how's that taste?"

She tilted her head to one side and continued looking down until Maggie returned the glance, smiling an immoral smile, granting Irene what she wanted to see before she closed her eyes again and bit down with only her supple lips. The sounds of that working in unison with her tongue to please her captured her in every sense. This was the most relaxed, the most ecstatic moment of her day, and she didn't fail to savor every second of it.

The two of them were lost in the moment like a lonely star in the vast emptiness of outer space when they heard a jarring sound explode into the bungalow and into their ears.

Maggie twitched, startled, and Irene's eyes intensified instantly while the Khans outside yelled.

"What the fuck was that?!"

"Oh fuck, they got Jerry! They got him! They're fucking sniping us!"

Irene pulled her pants up and lowered her shirt. Maggie stood up fully, wiped her hand across her mouth and began clothing herself in a rush. Then, another shot erupted through the Mojave.

"Damn it!"

Some of the Khans took cover and others poured out from the bungalow, looking around them, wondering where they were being fired at from. The assault continued. The next bullet shook them and just like that, a third Khan hit the dirt. Blood was seeping through the hole in his chest as he lay there, writhing, holding his wound with the flat of his hand before he looked around for his friends. The desperate expression on his face failed to garner any real attention.

"Where the fuck is it coming from!?"

A fourth thunderclap occurred and out of all the Khans, Matt, who wore the glorious blonde Mohawk, was the only one who felt anything upon his body aside from the way the sound of the shot vibrated him. His head whipped back and by the time he landed, he was already dead, his eyes staring sidelong listlessly.

"Get inside and take cover you fucking idiots!"

Irene's voice cut through the chaos and gathered them all up. None gave a second thought before they complied. All of them turned and dashed madly for the entrance. Three Khans went through the door stacked together and when another rifle round tore through the air, all three of them fell to the floor.

Sydney took in a quick breath and bit her bottom lip, watching as those three Khans rolled out of the door's venue to take cover. They wouldn't last long regardless. By then, most of her targets had fallen back into the bungalow, just like Rem said they would, and now it was time to start aiming through windows.

There, she found one young man, likely not far from his mid teens, and hesitated to pull the trigger. Her finger was pressed against the surface of it and her scope kept moving to align his face with the middle of her cross hairs.

A moment later, he lifted his pistol and held it where she could see it. Seeing that boy with a weapon in hand was enough to push her into a decision. She squeezed the trigger and after the shot spewed forth and tore through his flesh, jettisoning brain matter into the wall behind him, she kept squeezing it, tightening her hand in regret. Not because she had killed a man so youthful, but because it was unfortunate that someone so young was already so corrupted.

Then again, maybe, with another chance, he could have changed.

"How many did yew git, Sydney?"

Rem's voice brought her back to place, and her finger stopped squeezing the trigger.

"Eight. Three of them might not be dead yet."

"Good work."

Reddick could hear what Sydney was saying as he kept an eye out. By then, his fingers were twitchy. He was ready to get that blood that the Desert Ranger promised on his hands. The feeling only intensified each time he looked at Theo. He wanted to avenge every bruise and every scratch.

"Awright. Yew can start gettin' closer, just make sure yew fire a random shot at the bungalow every now and then so they ain't aware that there's a lull in the assault."

"Understood."

Sydney pushed herself up to her feet and turned to Reddick, "We're on. Let's go."

"Fuck yes," Reddick replied. He heard Shannon standing up behind him and turned around. "Stay here, Shan. Take care of Theo."

Her brief expression of defiance was imprisoned when he furrowed his eyebrows tighter, "Alright?"

"Fine. Whatever."

By the time he turned, he saw Sydney jogging away and he started running after.

"Slither through all the damn cover like a snake, awright Sydney? I don't want 'em seein' yew comin'."

The whole time, she had been so focused, so tensed by the assault that when she found something amusing, it came as a surprise. She released a breath and laughed just under it.

Rem's face contorted at what he heard.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, Rem." She took a moment to cast away the thought and continued, this time with a firmer tone, "I read you."

"Awright."

"How's it going with the wastelander?"

"Tame."

Sydney stopped and lowered behind an old Highwayman when the Khans started firing wildly out their windows. No rounds bounced off of the vehicle she was taking cover behind. That was how she knew none of them had seen her and Reddick yet.

Irene kept low as she moved around the bungalow. Eventually, she came across three men who were being tended to after being shot through the mid torso area. Unfortunately for them, the medical treatment didn't go any farther beyond applying cloth and pressure to stunt the bleeding.

"Give me some damn med-x!"

Irene muttered out, "No! Your ass is as good as dead. We're not wasting it on you."

"What?!"

Connor, one of the Khans who had been shot tightened his mouth and drew a pistol. Before he could point it at Irene, Maggie pulled the trigger. After watching Connor's head whip to the side and blood trickle down the side of his head, she paused. Her stomach sunk.

"Good job, Mags," Irene encouraged. "Fucking asshole was going to kill me."

She reached forth and yanked the guns away from the other two men who were wounded.

"Stay the fuck here and wait for us to be done. After that, we'll see what we can do about this."

None of them said a thing, but the terrified looks on their faces said it all. There was a sliver of disdain there, but they were too intimidated to act upon it.

"Hasn't anybody seen the fucking muzzle flash!?"

The questioned was put forth just as Sydney fired another suppressive shot at the bungalow. The Khans scurried about like ants, desperately searching for a crack to slip under, but found little.

"Well!?" Irene asked again.

"No! Fuck! Nobody has seen a damn muzzle flash!"

"We're up, Stanley. No mockin' 'em, ya hear?"

Stanley didn't answer. He just propelled himself forth right behind the Desert Ranger.

Rem emerged from behind cover and started approaching the bungalow while keeping low to the ground. He kept the barrel of his rifle trained on the windows that were facing him, and he could see shadows moving around inside.

"We're comin' up on 'em. We'll move to the window on our right and fire at whatever's inside until they're dead, or behind cover."

Finally, one of Rem's orders drew a sense of satisfaction from him. Popping up and firing his shotgun wildly was just what he needed to elevate his mood again.

Upon reaching the window, Rem popped his head in just as one of the Khans turned to see him. The black helmet, the green visors, and the rifle brought forth memories immediately. It was the bastard who traded the recipe for those hostages.

"Oh fu- - "

Before he could finish his scream, Rem pulled the trigger on his repeater. The disastrous round splattered his face and left a gaping hole there. Stanley came in and pointed his shotgun in through the window as well and started firing, pumping his shotgun after every round.

"Die die die!"

Four Khans went down before the others finally got behind cover.

The others in the bungalow were easily able to differentiate that last volley of bullets from the sniper rifle that had been set loose upon them. These sounded much closer, and they could tell in which direction it had happened.

Before Irene could ask anything, one of them yelled, "It's the fucking Desert Ranger! It's that asshole who traded the damn recipe! Martin, Brad, Franklin, and Johnny are out, man!"

Maggie stopped to think when she heard the word Desert Ranger.

The statement entered Irene's thought process and finally, fear set into her. That Ranger, from the way he sounded, was very coordinated. Her Khans were tough, she knew, but they weren't so tactical, and at this point, she had lost more than half her staff.

"Everyone fucking take cover and just wait for them to come at us!"

"We can't just fucking sit aro- - "

"I said take cover and wait for them to come. Kill the lights!"

Sydney, at that point, reached another vantage point that she had picked ahead of time and climbed to it using a ladder. Reddick paused.

"What? We're not going inside?"

"No."

"But what the fuck. I want to kill some of them."

"Get up here and cover me."

"You know what? Fuck you!"

Sydney turned and watched him run straight for the bungalow. She almost yelled for him to stop but concluded that if she did, she would give away her position.

"Rem, Reddick's gone rogue on me. He's not following orders."

"Where is he now?"

"Running straight for the bungalow."

"Fuckin' idiot's gonna git himself killed."

Rem stopped and turned to Stanley.

"Reddick ain't payin' my orders no mind. He's rushin' the bungalow."

"And what the fuck do you want me to do? It's about time we started saying to hell with you."

Stanley pushed past and began yelling, "You fucking savages are all going to die!"

Rem's eyebrows tightened beneath the helmet, knowing full well that all Stanley was doing was giving away his position when surprise was on their side. Two thoughts crossed his mind just then. One was to smack him down and tell him to get it together, and another was to leave him to his fate.

The latter sounded like the wisest thing he could do. He didn't want to end up being shot down for that idiotic wastelander's mistake.

Reddick, after hearing Stanley's voice, felt the fire inside intensifying and shooting up into the air like an explosion. "Kill 'em all, Stan! Kill all these bastards!"

Irene, inside, turned her head in both directions the voices were coming from and finally felt some confidence. She pointed at one of her Khans and then at a window. He nodded firmly and moved to it just in time for Reddick to stick his gun through it.

The Khan didn't hesitate to pull the trigger on his submachine gun. The automatic hail of bullets sounded off seemingly in unison with Reddick's scream of pain. When the Khan popped out from the window to put Reddick, who was now on the ground writhing, away for good, Sydney squeezed the trigger and put a round right in his chest. The deep impact of it caused the Khan to whip his arm aside and miss his target.

Meanwhile, Reddick screamed in pain.

"Stan! Oh god, help me! They got me!"

Rem grunted out his irritation as he slipped into the bungalow through one of the windows. Immediately, he went up to the wall next to the door that led out of that room and peeked out. There, even in the darkness, he saw the Khans hiding under the windows, waiting for another victim. Eventually, his eyes came across something that pulled his attention in like a vacuum.

Irene, the one with the spiky hair, who was the leader of the group lay there against the wall with a pistol nestled in her hand.

Slowly, he turned into the doorway and stuck the barrel out, aiming it right at her before he squeezed the trigger. The shot exploded forth, the muzzle flash lit up the dark room, and Irene's shoulders jumped as a round sent debris flying into her face after it collided with the wall next to her.

Rem tightened his grip on the rifle and turned his head down to look at the Khan that he hadn't seen, and the moment that he laid eyes on her, his body paused. He watched as Maggie tried to yank the rifle from his hands to no avail.

"Maggie?"

Hearing her name called caused her to stop. Her eyes widened just slightly.

"What the hell are yew doin' here?"

In one fell swoop, the memories from her childhood flooded into her mind in the span of one painful moment, and she recognized the accent.

"Why the hell are yew with these damn Khans?"

He turned his head when he heard steps running to his direction. Maggie did the same, and before Irene stepped in, Rem moved his hand to his sidearm and drew it from its holster. Irene walked right into a bullet, followed by four more that peppered her upper chest. Maggie's eyes widened and she opened her mouth, bellowing, releasing all of her emotional pain as Irene eased into the ground.

"Irene!"

After she let go of his rifle and lowered onto her knees beside her leader, who coughed up a flow of blood, Rem watched them.

"They got Irene! Bastards got Irene!"

One Khan ran out the front entrance in a panic. Before he could get very far, Sydney chased him down with her scope and pulled the trigger. The Khan fell to the floor face first and lay there writhing.

Stanley finally saw a good opportunity and stormed into the bungalow. There, he found one Khan looking out the window. The terrified look on his face was the most satisfying thing he had seen all night.

"Hey," he called, and ejected a shell full of shotgun pellets straight into his face. The blood that burst forth made him sneer.

Irene writhed on the ground, staring up at Maggie while the young woman cried and rubbed her face. "No, Irene, don't go," Maggie begged. Irene's eyes relaxed, and as the life faded away from her body, leaving her motionless, so too did the chaos around them reach a calm.

The pain of Irene being dead didn't strike until she lied there, unmoving. The sadness of it slowly but surely turned to anger, and so suddenly, she snatched Irene's pistol out of her hand and whipped it around towards Rem.

"Maggie!"

Before she could, he stopped her arm and backhanded her across the face. Then, he squeezed her wrist so tightly, Maggie yelped and dropped the gun.

"Calm yerself the hell down," he spat, his voice firm and powerful. "What the hell are yew doin' wit' these animals?"

Maggie swung her arm at him and gritted her teeth when she made contact with his hardened helmet. Then, she violently tugged back just as Rem let go. She fell to the floor in a thud and crawled backwards before gathering her knees into her arms.

"Maggie!"

Rather than answer, she began to cry. The tears that were born just beneath her eyelids poured forth, going down her cheek and dripping off her jawline while Rem came closer.

"Get the fuck away from me, Rem!"

"Maggie, what the fuck are yew doin' with 'em?!"

He reached out and pulled at her shirt, hoisting her onto her feet.

"What the fuck does it look like, moron!?"

It was hard to tell why, but Rem hadn't been able to believe that she was a raider until she told him that. His fingers softened, letting her go. She backed away from him again and looked up.

"Why?"

The question made her heart drop into her stomach. The memories of why she was with the Khans were painful, so painful that she had lived her life in a way so that she would soon forget.

"Why Maggie?"

The more he asked, the more she felt. Her crying intensified until he backed her up against a wall and slid down onto the floor.

"What would yer mother think?!"

She shot up against and punched Rem in the chest. When it hurt her fist more than it hurt him, the anger only grew wilder. She resorted to slapping him on the helmet repeatedly while Rem attempted to restrain her.

"You! You don't mention my mom to me! You hear me!?"

Finally, Rem had her wrists in each of his hands. As Maggie's outburst slowed, he stared down at her. The pain in her face was far too palpable for him to handle. It caused his anger to degenerate into regret, and compassion. A painful revelation manifested the more he assessed her.

"She's . . . she's gone . . . ain't she . . . "

Maggie closed her eyes and sobbed again, lowering to her knees. After Rem let go of her wrists, she covered her face, pressing her palms tightly into her cheeks. Meanwhile, Rem found himself remembering Barbara, and how much she had done to help him through losing his father. This wasn't right.

He watched her cry until he reached a conclusion. Nodding mostly to himself in acceptance of it, he lowered to one knee and peered into her eyes through a green hue.

"Maggie . . . yer better than this."

She took her hands away from her face and burst again, "Don't tell me what I'm better than, fucking asshole! You don't know me! Just because we met way the hell back when doesn't mean you can talk to me like we're family!"

"I knew who you _was, _Maggie!" he supplicated, moving his hands towards her. "Yew was a better person than this!"

"Was is right! Not anymore! I'm not the same person you met before!"

"Nobody stays the same as they were when they was kids, Maggie, but god damn it, this ain't yew. What the hell happened to yew, darlin'?"

She dropped her shoulders again and covered her face. What she hated most was his sincerity, and there was something about being called darling that comforted her. That and the question working together battered her down into something soft, something delicate.

"What always fucking happens in this wasteland, Rem," she sniffed, and continued gradually. "Murder. Pain . . . loss . . . " She shook her head and muffled a cry. Rem didn't stop staring. Every word she said was painful to hear.

"And no fucking Desert Rangers showed up to help," she added conclusively. "When one finally shows up again . . . " she started off gently, but ended loudly, "He only shows up to fuck everything up again! Damn you, Rem!"

She eased again. "Damn you . . . "

Rem stood up straight again and watched her sob. Meanwhile, Stanley stepped out of the bungalow, calling out for Reddick. Having received no responses seemed to ascertain his fears, but it didn't sink in until he actually found him.

Reddick lay there on his back. His blood had stained the dirt around him and he was unresponsive.

"God damn it," Stanley uttered, tightening his lips to stop himself from crying. "God fucking damn it, Reddick," he mourned, turning to his side before sniffing deeply, finding it hard to continue looking. He released a breath and reached up to his eyes, rubbing away at the tears before they trailed down his cheeks.

"If you're not going to kill me, leave!"

"This ain't what yew needed, Maggie! This ain't what yew had to do! There was other options!"

"What fucking options, Rem!? You weren't there! You don't know what the fuck my options were!" As she yelled, she pushed forth, as if she meant to push her words at him with her very presence.

Rem fell back and shook his head regrettably, "There had to be something better than this fer yew."

Maggie stared up at him, her anger degrading into anguish and hopelessness. For many reasons, too, one particularly painful one being that she knew, deep inside her somewhere, that he was right. This wasn't what her mother would have wanted. Not what her beautiful, loving mother would have wanted..

"There wasn't," she answered. The desperation with which she spoke made it painfully believable. "There wasn't, Rem. There wasn't. I couldn't do anything else. It was this or . . . end up like . . . "

Rem looked down.

"There was no option . . . " she whimpered.

The door swung open, and the first thing Stanley laid eyes on was Maggie. Rem could see the anger lighting up his face instantaneously. "You. You fucking bitch. Why isn't she dead yet!?"

Rem stepped closer, "I know her, Stanley. Step off. Yew got what yew came for."

"Like fucking hell I have! Reddick's dead! This debt's not paid off until all these raiders are dead!"

"Stanley," Rem began, "Step . . . off. I ain't gonna tell ya again."

"Fuck you," he replied, lifting up his shotgun. Between them, there were ten feet of space, way too much for Rem to traverse in time to stop him from firing. His instincts crept in and took over, causing him to act on impulse. In a flash, he drew his pistol and fired once, twice, thrice, and the fourth time he fired, Stanley fell back against the wall behind him.

The feeling, and not exactly discomfort, from firing his nine millimeter that many times in rapid succession stayed in his hand as the certainty settled, convincing him that he had done what was right. Thinking of it, he concluded that now that he took a good long look back, he would have done the same for Emma, and she had sinned to the deepest extent.

Stanley's face lost all expression as he slid down, leaving a trail of blood on the wall that led to the ground. Maggie watched on, shocked, and rested her eyes on his body.

"What the hell happened?"

Rem turned to the door again in time to see Sydney stepping in. First, she looked at Stanley, then at Rem, and finally at the Khan girl. Rem's prolonged silence made it apparent that he had done something that was difficult to say.

"Why is Stanley dead and that Khan girl still alive, Rem?"

"I know her, Sydney. 'Cause I know her."

"But she's a raider. You killed Stanley over her!? What the fuck's wrong with you!?"

Maggie glanced from one of them to the other.

"Maggie ain't like that. This ain't what it looks like."

"It's exactly what it looks like! What the hell are we going to tell Shannon and Theo!?"

"Raiders got 'em."

Sydney paused, releasing a breath while she stared onward. Upon looking back at Maggie, the younger woman turned her eyes away and waited for the glance to drip off her.

"Fuck, Rem."

"I need yew to step outside, Sydney."

Without a second thought, she turned and slammed the door behind her to make sure she didn't act on a whim. Rem stared at the ground after she left and turned his attention to Maggie again. She returned the glance, and Rem breathed deeply.

"What are ya gonna do?"

"Go back," Maggie said, gathering her knees into her arms again.

"No, Maggie, yew can't go back to 'em." Rem paced from one side to the other.

"Who the fuck are you to tell me where to go?"

"A friend, Maggie. Come with me. So long as yer with me, yew ain't alone."

"I wasn't alone before!"

Under the helmet, Rem pressed his lips together and finally reached up to remove it. He set it down, where Maggie saw it. It prompted her to look at Rem's face. There was facial hair now, but the countenance of the boy she remembered so clearly remained in some respect.

"Awright, yew wasn't alone, but please, fer Barbara, come with me."

He reached out to her, and her attention fell on his fingers.

"Yew know goin' back to 'em wouldn't be what yew should do in yer mother's eyes."

"Stop mentioning her."

"Awright. Awright."

There was a pause between them. Maggie closed her eyes and lowered her head. Rem never retracted his hand, but when she started to stand, she didn't take it. He stared into her oh so familiar face, which was still as pretty as he remembered it, and took his hand back.

It wasn't needed for her to state her compliance. Rem could see it in her body language. In the way she wouldn't look him in the eyes.

"Where?"

"Thank yew, Maggie," he uttered. She could hear the relief in his voice.

"Where?"

"Yer gonna have to change outta them clothes first."

As Rem and Maggie emerged from the bungalow, Sydney stared at them intently. Upon seeing the girl's change of clothes, she knew that he was actually going through with what he said before.

"Rem."

"Yes, Sydney?"

"She isn't coming with us, is she?"

"She is."

"Are you suddenly retarded as you look? Theo and Shannon are going to recognize her."

"The hostages?" Maggie entered. She wiped her nose and added, "They never saw me. We kept them blindfolded most of the time."

"Huh, that's convenient."

She turned to Rem, but upon seeing him stand there with his rifle in both hands, his shoulders firm, she knew there was no convincing him that this was a mistake. She was just about to turn away again when she decided to speak instead. "Can I have a word?"

Rem breathed out and followed her away, leaving Maggie in the background, watching.

"You're bringing a fucking raider to Littlefield?"

"She ain't no goddamn raider, Sydney."

"Then what was she doing for the Khans? Just sweeping and mopping?"

"Yew don't know who she is, Sydney. I'm tellin' yew, she ain't like them other Khans. Look at her. She's placid. After we killed all her damn buddies. What kinda raider stands idly by when this kinda shit happens? She knows that she shouldn't have been with 'em in the first place."

Sydney opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself, hating the fact that she couldn't manage a fully incriminating response.

"So, who is she?"

"She helped me git back home to Ranger Center some four years ago."

"You ever think she might not be the same person she used to be?"

"Ain't no one the same that they used to be, Sydney. Everyone changes, and I can tell what kinda changes she's been through."

"Listen to yourself. You're saying these things like they're facts. That's full blown denial. Full blown bias. Who the hell can tell what kinds of changes people go through in four years? Not even the shrink back at Ranger Center can do it, and he was fucking _taught _to dissect our brains."

"All I know, Sydney, is that she ain't bloodthirsty. Look at her again."

Sydney complied.

"She ain't murderous. She was _put _into this situation."

"I doubt they had a gun to her head."

"Do yew? They're raiders, Sydney. Raiders are capable of any damn thang."

"Exactly. That's why we shouldn't be fucking doing this, Rem."

"We're doin' this. That's final, ya hear? If yew still have any problems when we git to Littlefield, yew can bring it up with Salmons."

Rather than fulfill him with any type of an acknowledgment, she turned from him and started walking. Rem watched her, and finally, he turned to Maggie, motioning for her to follow.

He waited for her there, and when she reached him, he spoke, "Don't speak. Just 'cause they ain't ever seen yew don't mean they ain't ever heard yew."

* * *

><p>"Reddick ignored the orders Sydney gave him and charged the bungalow. When he got there, he was shot down from one of the windows. He died before we could get to him. Stanley ran into the bungalow, too, forgoin' my orders."<p>

Sydney stood by while she listened to Rem spew his lies. The more he continued, the more disgusted she was by it.

"He was shot down inside, and there was nothin' we could do."

Upon finishing, he leaned in and handed them Stanley's shotgun followed by Reddick's AK-47. Shannon's eyes were already watery by then. Hell, her eyes started developing a brilliant, moist sheen the moment she saw Rem, Sydney, and the hostage but no Reddick and Stanley.

Maggie didn't say a thing. She stood as far away from Sydney as she could, and actually experienced a sting of regret. Not because she was guilty that Stanley was killed to save her life, but because she felt it was insulting to be introducing herself as a wastelander instead of a Khan.

"Awright, I'm sorry yew two, but we need to git movin'. Chance someone heard all them gunshots and is headed this way."


	30. A black foreshadowing

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 5th 9:45 pm**

**2267**

Andre was seated on the wooden floor of his establishment in Littlefield. In his hands, he held one of the thermic lances that the Legionaries used. They were heavy for human standards, but when he thought back on what happened, he remembered the way it felt when they were held to him. It was as though these lances were the answer for him, much like the myths of silver bullets and werewolves, or sunlight and vampires.

The lance had two handles on what could be considered its roof, and the one closer to the tip of the weapon housed its trigger, which was what made it close to completely useless to him. Being a super mutant had its perks, most notably an exponential increase in physical attributes such as strength, speed and durability, but becoming larger and more intimidating at first glance came at a price.

His fingers didn't fit through trigger guards on most weapons. Furthermore, when he would forgo himself and improvise a solution by tying a cloth in the trigger hoop of a gun and pulling on it when necessary, rifles felt so small in his hands that it was difficult to be accurate with them. That was why he always resorted to brute strength, which, up until now, had been more than enough when facing enemies who weren't wielding firearms.

"It might still work for you. That isn't a rifle."

Mortekai's voice, whose decibels rippled like water through the air invisibly, snapped Andre out of his concentration. He turned his head and saw the glowing ghoul seated there with a Corvega's damaged nuclear core on his lap, his shoulders lax and his head hanging low. Ghouls, even with their withering facial features, were still very capable of expressions, or maybe it was just that Andre was so familiar with his friend that he could just somehow see it. He was miserable. Mostly in part because he was still weak.

"I'll have to try it out," Andre responded, lifting himself onto the flats of his feet. Looking down on Mortekai, the lance hanging from just one of his hands, he studied. The exposed muscle throughout his bare torso made his physical frailty much more noticeable. While he, as a super mutant, was much stronger than humans, Mortekai was actually on the other side of it, being weaker.

"You look terrible, Morty. You're not going to need help going to the bathroom, are you?"

Mortekai's facial expression changed instantly, lighting up with a smile. Then he released a slow, gradual laughter that ended in speech, "You're free to go and tickle your colon with one of your big green thumbs. I'll be fine here all by myself."

His reassuring and yet sarcastic tone made Andre's chest bulge slightly as he breathed out in amusement, "Heh."

Without saying anything else, he turned and left, walking out the door and leaving the thermic lance standing up against the wall next to the exit. After the door closed behind him, Mortekai turned away from it and held the core up in front of his face before hugging it close to his body. The radiation it was emitting was what had kept him alive, and what was speeding up his healing process.

It was nothing short of a miracle, really, just the same way that stimpaks were, except radiation was much, much easier to come by in the wasteland. Still, even as he sat there pondering how it wouldn't take very long for him to be on his feet again, he knew how close he had come to dying.

The lance had almost pierced his diaphragm. If that had happened, he would have surely died.

Captain Salmons was leaning back in his chair when it opened. His arms were folded over his chest, and he didn't need to look to know that it was Andre who was coming in. His heft had a way of revealing that from a distance, but his breathing did, too. His lungs drew in so much air that sometimes, it sounded like a small turbine on a plane.

"How's he doing?"

"Fine. He'll be up and at 'em by tomorrow, I'd say."

The door closed, and Andre's heavy steps stopped in front of Salmons' desk.

"We didn't find any evidence of there being notably large forces in the area. Just a few raiding groups doing some recon, nothing more."

Salmons' arms eased off of his chest before he nodded, his eyes never inching away from his left.

"Good. Looks like we still have some time before they come at us full force. They might start sending skirmishers soon, however, so we'll still need to be ready."

Andre shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, "Any word from High Town?"

Salmons shook his head, his facial expression still tense from consideration of all the things set before him, "Hopefully, everything goes smoothly."

There was a moment of silence between them, but not because there was nothing more to be said. It was because both of them were thinking deeply on the matter. When finally Salmons' reached his conclusion, he set himself free and asked a question of his own.

"So, what happened? How many of them did you engage?"

Andre's appearance changed once the question was posed, and Salmons' was able to see it immediately. Salmons' concerns that what had happened went far beyond a routine injury was further cemented when Andre took long to compile his statement.

"Judging from how it looks like I just loaded a brahmin onto your shoulders, it must've been bad."

Andre answered almost hurriedly afterwards, but still sounded calm. For that, Salmons was glad. One thing that would have worried him to his core would have been if Andre, who had been killing for years, was losing his grip on himself.

"We engaged sixteen, but we ended up having to fight twenty one of them. They had protocols for us. Five men were hiding nearby. We didn't see them before Mortekai went in and started doing his thing. Once the radiation started inducing vomiting, and after I attacked, one of them sounded a horn. It was a signal for those other five men."

From Salmons' point of view, he still found it hard to see what exactly had gone wrong. In times past, he had seen small cavalries of men bounce off of Andre as if he were a pike barrier. What was so special about five men?

"They must have been well armed."

"No guns."

Suddenly, things got interesting. Since when could five men with lances pose a problem to a monolith like Andre? Salmons' silence, and his stare, was enough to show that the captain didn't quite get it yet.

"They had these heavy lances. The same type that pierced through Mortekai's armor like it was made of leather. They were also tactical. Very . . . tactical."

Salmons just watched until Andre recognized that there was some extended silence.

"Legionaries are tough, Salmons, but it's alright. They caught me off guard with their strategy. If it ever happens again, I'll be ready for it."

* * *

><p>"Alright Jeremy, pull her up."<p>

Pat stood by, watching Damon and Jeremy pull the trash rack that kept the long white pipe that siphoned water into the plant's turbine clean out. Her plasma rifle was nestled in her hands. Her job there was to keep an eye out for attacks.

Every time she made eye contact with Damon, she felt a slew of things. It ranged from beautiful and unexpected feelings like comfort and excitement. By now, she had been given enough time to consider herself in this relation.

As much as she wanted to avoid it at first, she was enamored.

Truth was, the moment she laid eyes on Damon and witnessed his alien personality when opposed to the typical wastelanders she was used to, she was reeled in. He represented the wonder that was Ranger Center, and it gave her hope that one day, things could be just as nice for her. Just when she would lose herself in those blissful daydreams, envisioning herself living a much more placid life in the future with him, the understanding that there was something there that could tear apart her dreams always surfaced and plucked her from her place high in the sky, bringing her to the ground again.

Back down to the same ugly dirt below her boots.

"Not that much crap in there," Damon commented as Jeremy and he patted debris off the trash rack. One of the miscellaneous objects there was a plastic food container cap of sorts. Jeremy just picked it out and threw it aside, onto the ground.

"This is good," Damon added. "During the prewar era, these rivers could be packed with trash. I guess it sort of kind of helps that almost the whole human population was wiped out."

Jeremy laughed and shook his head at Damon's morbid logic.

"Less trash and all that."

"Yeah," Jeremy agreed in amusement, nodding his head before he looked in Damon's direction. "All done, right?"

"Yeah."

Both of them lifted the trash rack up again. Damon's eyes were angled downward at the time, perusing the net for debris they may have missed when he heard something out of place. A thud of some kind. Just when his eyebrows furrowed slightly, alarmed by the sound, he felt the other side of the trash rack go slack.

Jeremy's body hit the floor just as Damon laid eyes on the gore. There was a spear head lodged deep in his cranium. The wooden shaft left an imprint of itself on the ground and blood was already trickling from the wound.

Firstly, shock set in, and then his training set in.

He whipped his head around and saw two legionaries close to thirty feet away from them. Just as one of the cold, calculates soldiers hoisted another spear over his shoulder, he heard the sound of green plasma being ejected from its barrel and flying forth.

The slow projectile lit up Damon's peripheral vision at the same time that the spear was thrown forth. He watched it move along almost in slow motion, following it towards Pat until it just barely grazed her arm, almost at the same time that the plasma bolt missed its target. It flew off into the long, long distance, disappearing from sight before it hit anything.

"Legionaries! We have Legionaries!"

Damon finally withdrew his revolver from its holster when he realized that plasma rifle fire was much, much quieter than gunfire and pointed. He squeezed the trigger tightly, which, to his notice, was much different from when he was firing at practice targets.

He was actually angry this time, and it was fueled by the fact that his fledgling assistant lay dead thanks to these men. The shot that rung out reached far, far out to the city and alerted the entire town in a single moment.

All the while, Pat stepped forth and continuously pulled on the trigger of her rifle. Damon did the same, firing off his revolver as quickly as its firing mechanisms allowed when the two men started falling back into cover behind a tall, earthen protrusion.

"Come out of there so I can fry you!"

Pat stopped at the edge of the river, which kept her from chasing after them. Damon did, too. Neither of them turned away from the rock for what must have been seconds, but felt like minutes.

Then, they felt something heavy moving towards them. Damon turned immediately and saw the mutant that Rem had mentioned to him earlier. He had sprinted far, far ahead of the rest of the men who were heading in their direction and arrived with his fingers tightened into fists. Damon saw the sequence in which he glanced at Jeremy and then at them.

Pat didn't seem affected in any way by Andre's arrival. This wasn't the first time she had seen a mutant. Her eyes canted to him and the moment that she made eye contact, she gestured towards the rock cover with her head.

Andre systematically walked towards it. Then, much to their surprise, he took two deep steps before his strong legs unfurled and ejected him into the air as if he weighed nothing at all. He made it to the other side of the river in one bound and followed it up with the same maneuver once he reached their cover. Instead of going around the rock after those skirmishers, he leapt over it. They never would have seen an aerial strike coming.

They heard when he landed on the other side, but just when they expected there to be screaming and yelling, there was nothing. Andre walked out from behind the rock and shook his head.

"They're gone," he uttered. "Skirmishers. They might still be around here, so watch your backs."

At that point, the others arrived. Six men, all armed with assault rifles.

"Oh no, Jeremy," one of them lamented.

Just when everyone was settling down enough to pay attention to the man who was already dead, Andre cut in and spoke loudly so as to garner their attention, "Someone go back to town and grab some mines."

Damon started loading rounds into the cylinder of his revolver as he turned his attention to Andre.

"Why, sir?"

Upon being called sir, it grated against him, but now wasn't the time to point out that he didn't want rank to be taken into account when he was being addressed. Instead, the seasoned ranger ascended beyond that trivial matter and continued working more than anything.

"We're going to place them behind the rock they just used for cover so it's harder to use them again."

He turned around and began pointing, "That one over there. That one. And then that one, too. We turn those into explosive traps and they wont have as much cover to get close like that again. Go!"

One of the men turned and began running back to town when Damon paused to stare at the huge super mutant. He was stuck there for a while until Pat's steps, which led her to his side, snapped him out of it.

"Mutant," she commented. "They're fast. Sometimes a little stupid, but not this one."

Damon nodded, and then drew in a breath.

"Sorry about Jeremy. I didn't see them coming."

Pat watched him, waiting for some kind of response when she saw that one wasn't going to be had. Instead, Damon started to walk forward and away from her, towards where Jeremy lay, surrounded by some of his friends from town.

He wasn't used to seeing people die like this. She could gather that much from the way he was acting.

All of them were standing in place when Andre turned and walked further from the plant in search of the skirmishers that had just been there. That was when they all heard another gunshot. Pat turned around completely and looked off into the opposite side of town, where another engagement was likely taking place.

Andre regretted that despite how quick he could get to places, he couldn't be everywhere at once. The militia there would just have to take care of that problem on their own.

"Stay on alert, soldiers," Andre's voice boomed. "They have Littlefield in their sights now! Skirmishers usually prod for weaknesses so that a much larger force can exploit them in the future! Let's show them that we have no weaknesses!"

Damon, after taking in Jeremy's bloody image for long enough, stood up.

"Yes sir," he uttered, loud enough to be heard.

* * *

><p>"You mean to tell me you just left them there for the damn nightstalkers and coyotes?"<p>

Rem's voice answered back calmly, "All the gunfire could have been enough to attract legionaries in the area. If we had given them a proper burial, none of us may have come back."

The man standing in front of him bore a similar resemblance to Reddick. He was accompanied by other people, men and women, and though not all of them appeared related, Rem could tell by their attentive gazes that Reddick and Stanley's deaths meant something to them.

"You could have at least burned them!"

"I really don't think yer gettin' the message here, sir. It only takes five minutes for a Legion raiding group to enter the damn fray. Would yew prefer it if Theo and Shannon ain't made it back, too?"

Before things could escalate, Nate stepped forward, allowing his entrance and his voice in unison to inject him into the moment, "He's right, Jude. He did the right thing."

Jude's shoulder relaxed but his face was still in a sneer. Rem was surprised with how alike Stanley's family was, and not just in appearance. Their heads were all solid as rocks.

"Whatever. I'm going to go over there and give them a proper burial my god damn self."

After speaking, Jude turned away and waved his hand dismissively.

"Ditto," said another.

Sydney's eyes narrowed beneath her helmet. As she turned her attention to Rem, she knew he was thinking the same exact thing that she was thinking. Once Jude arrived at the interchange, it was possible that he would piece together the fact that Stanley wasn't shot and killed by one of the Khans.

"I'll come, too," Nate added, his tone reassuring to those in the area.

As the conversation come to an end, an older man that Rem and Sydney hadn't seen before stepped forth. His hair was entirely gray but the fact that his eyes didn't appear weary made it easy to tell that he wasn't quite at the end of his rope yet. However, thanks to Dominguez' report on High Town, he was somehow recognizable. This was Gunner, the closest thing that High Town had to a leader.

"The rest of us will follow the rangers back to Littlefield. Jude, Ian, and Nate can find their ways there on their own."

Everyone seemed to respond by turning back and heading to the rickety elevator, off to gather up their belongings for the move.

Gunner leaned in very close to Rem and spoke, "We'll be leaving in about a half hour. Thank you for bringing Theo and Shannon back." He was the last one to head for the elevator, and Rem turned just at the same moment to hear Sydney's mocking tone.

"A word?"

Rem sighed in exasperation and just started walking off into another direction. Sydney convened with him a few feet away from Maggie and spoke.

"They're going to see that the Khans didn't kill Stanley."

"The girl with the Mohawk had a nine millimeter, too."

"I didn't hear any pistol fire in there aside from hers. Are you even aware if she ever fired her gun at all?"

Rem went silent.

"You see? Now we're in some deep fucking shit because you decided to kill a good wastelander over a raider of all things."

Sydney's voice rumbled angrily. If she weren't cautious of being overheard, she could see herself yelling into his face at the top of her lungs.

"Them boys were out of control, Sydney. Yew damn well know that. You saw how they was actin'. I told Stanley to stand down repeatedly and he didn't listen. I warned him. He did not listen."

"And now we're running the risk of fucking all this up because you didn't want a _raider _to get killed."

Maggie watched them from a distance. She didn't need to hear what they were saying to know it was about her. The more they bickered, however, the less comfortable she felt with just standing aside, so she gathered her mind and started approaching.

Just as she stepped into their space, Sydney stopped talking and turned to her. Rem did the same.

"This is private," Sydney commanded.

"What's the problem?"

"You are."

Rem turned from one to the other.

"What about me?"

"Isn't it obvious? You're a damn raider."

Maggie held her hands up, "I didn't fucking ask to come with you. If it's like this, I can just leave."

"Please do."

Rem interjected, "No, there ain't no problem. She's comin' with us, and that's the last time I'm tellin' yew it's a damn order, _Sergeant._"

Sydney's ears grew hot, her jaw clenched, and her grip on the rifle tightened.

"When I get to Salmons . . . " she threatened.

Rem stepped forward and uttered his words slowly. If it weren't for his helmet, his breath would have been on her cheek, "He's gonna tell yew to keep yer mouth shut . . . 'cause it'll endanger the unity between Littlefield and High Town. He ain't lookin' to punish one of us. Yew know that first hand."

Sydney stared up at him for a while. Rem turned away from her during her silence, and said nothing more.

All Maggie could do then was stand by, watching, trying her best to understand what was happening. From just this, she was able to decipher that Sydney had done something worth being punished for, and Rem had just slapped her across the face with it.

From her point of view, those were some harsh measures for Rem to take just to keep her around. Why?

Gunner returned to see both Rangers standing a few feet away from each other. The captive, as he was told the young woman was, wasn't standing near any of them, either. However, when he and his people had all gathered, Rem dislodged himself from his ground and stepped towards them.

Jude, Ian, and Nate each broke away from the main group and began heading towards the interchange. Seeing them actually go through with it didn't sit well with Rem. He knew that Sydney was right. If they chose to investigate things thoroughly, they would find that Stanley hadn't been killed by Irene's nine millimeter.

"We're ready to go, Ranger," Gunner called. It took Rem a few moments to pull himself away from those three men. When he did, he nodded firmly, "Them four boys with the scoped assault rifles, put 'em on recon. One watches the left, one watches the right, one watches the rear. My Ranger," he motioned to Sydney, ". . . will watch what's ahead of us."

Gunner answered, "I appreciate the precision. Having a plan is one way to keep people calm."

"Just doin' my job, sir."

As the older gentleman turned and began conveying his orders, Rem turned to Jude again, watching them move further and further away. Sydney stood aside, watching them as well before turning to glance at Rem. Seeing him there, obviously pensive about it, she sneered beneath her helmet.

* * *

><p>Arriving at the Littlefield interchange didn't take them too long. During their trek, Nate had been very vocal about being cautious, but Jude and Ian were having none of it. They made a beeline straight in its direction, and upon arriving, the blood and the bodies were easy to uncover.<p>

First, they found a Khan who had been shot in the back. He crawled for a few feet until his death. Then, there was another man there, who was wearing brahmin fur over his shoulders on the ground.

He had a bullet in his head.

"Ugly piece of shit," Jude muttered, kicking one of the Khans in the side while Nate turned his entire body around, searching for the slighest of movements in the landscape. Ian continued walking, and that was when he recognized Reddick.

"Jude! I found Reddick!"

Nate spoke to them immediately after the loud call, "Please, we would be wise not to be so loud."

"Relax, Nate," Jude answered, "There's nobody here." If it weren't for Nate's track record, which involved helping High Town get rid of some of the nuisances of the Mojave near their home, they would have treated his caution with much less respect.

Jude approached Ian and lowered onto one knee beside Reddick, whose chest was riddled with bullet holes. The ground underneath him was darkened by his blood, and his eyes were still open.

Ian breathed out and reached for his face, touching the cold skin before pushing them shut. Then, he stood. Jude did so as well, and then started heading into the bungalow itself, their moods weighed down by what they were expecting to find.

Inside, it was an absolute slaughter. There were Khans all over the place, and because all of them had been left to lay there, bleeding out, the ground was largely covered in plasma.

Their eyes surveyed the room, looking from one face to the other, waiting for the moment that they would lay eyes on Stanley. Nothing.

"This was the guy that shot Red," Ian commented. Jude turned and saw a Khan near the window that Reddick had died behind. In his hands, he was clutching a twelve millimeter submachine gun.

"How'd he die? Did Red shoot back?"

Jude lowered beside the Khan and looked him over. There was a single round. Upon turning him onto his back, it was easy to see that the shot had blown a hole right through him. Whichever gun did it, it had been more powerful than Reddick's AK-47.

"Girl with the sniper rifle got him," Ian concluded.

"Yeah. A little too fucking late, it looks like."

Nate glanced at them over his shoulder but didn't leave the door until they began heading further into the bungalow. Finally, they entered the room where Irene lay dead on the ground, a nine millimeter pistol clutched in her hand.

Close to her, Stanley rested as well. He was on his side, and his shotgun was no longer in his hands. A trail of blood had escaped through his lips, down his cheek, and onto the floor.

"Fucking bitch!"

As Ian yelled, he wound up his leg and kicked her across the face. Irene's body slid in the corresponding direction, her fingers loosening on her weapon.

Meanwhile, Jude approached Stanley and turned him fully onto his back before squatting over his fallen cousin. There were gunshots throughout his upper body. Some in the side and others in the chest.

"How many times?" Ian asked.

"Four," Jude replied.

Nate eventually reached the room, standing between them and the doorway, watching their backs. His gun was held firmly in hand, and judging from his vigilant demeanor, it was clear that he may have been more apprehensive about this than he originally let on.

"Let us move them outside and give them their proper burial, Jude. We should not stay here longer than we need."

Jude straightened out, nodding his head in conclusion when he noticed something alarming. On the wall behind where Stanley lay, there was blood. It had splattered onto there after he had been shot. Then, when he looked towards Irene, he saw that the dimensions of this engagement were . . . off. If she had been the one who shot him, the bullets would have hit the wall on the other side.

He remembered, immediately, that Rem told them a woman with a mohawk had been the one who killed Stanley. Seeing now that it wasn't true made it painfully certain that he had something to do with Stanley's death. Otherwise, why would he lie? As if he needed more evidence to be certain, he then remembered the Ranger's sidearm. A pistol.

"That fucker was lying," Jude growled.

"What?"

Ian turned his attention, and so did Nate.

"The bullet marks are there," he pointed. "The ones that hit Stanley put blood on the wall there. If that bitch over there had shot him, the blood would be on the opposite side."

"Mother fucker . . . " Ian cooed in realization. "He said he saw the Khan with the mohawk shoot Stanley!"

"Looks like the fucker turned on Stanley and Reddick. Son of a bitch. I'm going to put one right between his eyes!"

Nate just watched them, taking in everything they were saying when they each went and picked up their fallen family member. One by the arms and the other by the legs. They carried him out to where Reddick was and set him on the ground.

"Soon as we bury them, we're going to double time it to Littlefield. Hopefully, we'll find them before they get there and break this stupid unification that Gunner's agreed to."

Jude's heart was beating rapidly as he headed towards the shovels.

Ian waited for him to come back with them, and that was when he felt a sharp, debilitating pain shooting through his entire body.

"Agh!"

After he yelled, a startled Jude turned and all he saw was a knife flying towards him, reflecting moonlight from its surface until its tip embedded itself into the space between his eyes. Ian watched him fall dead to the ground, his legs twitching uncontrollably.

Meanwhile, Nate's strong fingers twisted the dagger in the base of Ian's spine, and the young man felt his legs go numb.

"Nate . . . " Ian gritted his teeth as he felt and heard a grisly crack. He breathed out a low yelp.

"What . . . "

"Shhh . . . " Nate responded, slowly lowering Ian onto the dirt. Ian grunted as Nate placed a knee atop his rear and shadowed over him, pressing the tip of his knife against the soft flesh between the spine and the skull.

In one swift motion, Nate thrust the blade through, and Ian felt it cutting a pathway into and through his mouth. The blood that came spewing through was what kept his screams in sequences of nasty, gurgling sounds instead.

Nate twisted the blade again, and as he did, Ian heard his assailant speak. It sounded much, much different from what he was used to. The slow, calm cadence with which his words used to flow turned into a ruthless and calculating rhythm that absolutely terrified him.

"Knowing that I will be the end of your family as well, rest now, _profligate._"

The final matters that Ian was persuaded to consider by the Frumentarius made his death an ugly, ugly affair.


	31. Another beginning

**Mojave Wasteland**

**September 6th 4:41 am**

**2267**

Their arrival in Littlefield was rather smooth. While Andre and some other armed residents from the town watched the group of High Towners walking steadily in their direction, Rem stopped and took a good look around as far as he could, glad with how difficult it was to see anything at all. Long before they arrived, or, more accurately, as soon as he and Sydney departed, he had marked the angle that he wanted to approach the town from. It was littered with tall protrusions like sandy hills, rocks, and a few broken down Corvegas and Highwaymans.

He figured that in the case that there was an attack, which he had also imagined was highly likely, they could reach cover quickly enough to minimize losses. The ranger super mutant saw it and understood during the same exact second, and it was enough to convince him that Rem's earlier status as a deployed Desert Ranger had, in fact, imparted him with some wisdom that he and Salmons could count on. His thick, leathery lips stretched into a smile before he stepped forth and began his own approach.

Once they were there, well within the town limits, the High Towners were welcomed by some of the other residents from the town and by Captain Salmons as well. Rem, from a distance, saw that Andre was separated from the welcoming committee, his eyes tilted in his direction the whole time as he smoked his cigar and continued his forward gait. Instinctively, Rem branched away from the arriving group and started moving towards him as well. The understanding that the first thing he would have to do was debrief him weighed on his shoulders quite heavily.

Sydney, at first, fiercely debated with herself on if whether she should stay close to Rem or not, aware that her interest in following was mostly about shedding light on what bringing that Khan girl may turn into. However, after recognizing that as one of the rangers who had been sent on that detail that she should have every inclination to be available for the debriefing process, she tossed aside her hesitation and also branched away, following Rem on their way closer to their commanding officer.

Meanwhile, Maggie slowed her steps as the people from High Town were welcomed. Captain Salmons' booming welcome, which referred to them according to their origin, made her feel vividly out of place. These people could simply be honest about where they were from, but as for herself, she was unsure. So she turned her eyes towards Rem, lifting her hand, nearly calling to him until he turned around himself and motioned her over just in time.

She did so, stepping away from the group and making eye contact with Captain Salmons for a single second before he went on about welcoming the rest of them. She saw the curiosity in his glance, the seasoned perception, all of which led him to see what she was. An anomaly. One that the private was about to discuss with Andre.

"Good job, Private," Andre finally said, stopping five feet away from Rem and Sydney. "You've completed your primary mission."

Rem began his answer but stopped when he heard footsteps beside him. Sydney had tagged along. Internally, he seethed, wondering if she thought he was going to keep any information to himself.

"Is there anything to debrief?"

"Yessir," Rem responded firmly. "First thang, the angle we came in through- "

"We're going to cover it with mines. The Legion could use it as a relatively close foothold to stage an attack from."

Rem nodded, glancing off to the side before returning his gaze to the rather enormous super mutant of a Desert Ranger. At about that time, Maggie reached them, but she stood a few steps behind them. A rather large part of her begged her to leave.

"Who's that girl?"

Truth be told, Andre had recognized that there must have been something special about her when she didn't follow the rest of the High Towners. However, Rem's fluid response didn't give away the dangers that existed in conjunction with her presence.

"To get them High Towners to come with us, Sydney and I had to rescue two of their people from a Khan encampment."

"Khan?"

"They're like . . . "

"Raiders," Sydney cut in. "Chem trafficking unsavory types."

"I'm getting the hell out of here."

Rem turned, Andre lifted his head, and Sydney didn't change a thing about the way she was standing as Maggie turned and began departing.

"Now wait there, girl," Andre ordered, his voice rumbling deeply. "You're not leaving until the Private has finished his debriefing."

Maggie stopped and turned, and when she saw that Andre had taken a step forward towards her, she knew she couldn't go anywhere even if she wanted. At least not yet.

Satisfied, Andre looked down towards Rem, "Continue."

"Two High Towners wanted blood on their hands."

Those words garnered Sydney's eyes. They settled on Rem's helmet as he continued.

"So, they came with us. Nothin' we could really do 'bout it, sir."

By then, Andre was statuesque, watching him closely as he continued. His persistent silence was enough to show that he wanted to hear the story in a hurry.

"We headed on over to that Khan encampment and traded a chem recipe for them hostages. I woulda left it at that, but seein' how those two boys wasn't gonna be okay with it and that killin' them Khans seemed like a big motivation for them to follow us back to Littlefield, I devised a plan to get rid of 'em and retrieve the recipe. The High Towners, from what was detailed in Dominguez' report, ain't a buncha chem addicts, so I'm guessin' it was more about the caps an' less about bein' able to make the stuff to get high on it themselves. If a bunch of Khans got the recipe and started sellin' it, it devalues the recipe."

Sydney listened in silence at that point, waiting as patiently as possible.

"We attacked when it was dark since Sydney and I can see better. I assigned one of 'em to Sydney to work as her spotter, and the other one, the more unruly one, I brought with me to get closer to the encampment. Once we was near, I gave Sydney the green light to start firin'. Durin' the fight, her spotter abandoned his post and attacked the encampment direct, an' ended up payin' for it. When I told my High Towner what Reddick, Sydney's partner, had done, he supported it, and the assault carried on like that."

Rem paused for a second but didn't dare let it carry on for much longer. He was aware that his next statement would shed light beyond the words that composed it.

"Durin' my part of the ordeal, I found Maggie," he motioned at her with by tilting his head towards his right shoulder, motioning in her direction. Then, Andre leaned in just a little closer, his facial expressions tightening so very slowly to reflect his rather sharp scrutiny.

"Was she a captive?"

After Andre's rumbling tone imparted the question, Rem could see that the commanding officer already suspected that whatever was wrong could very possibly be detrimental to the alliance between Littlefield and High Town. He would find an answer either in Rem's words, or, in the case that those words did not come swiftly enough, in the guilt of momentary silence.

The wind blew, the High Towners and the welcoming committee well in the distance now, and Andre sneered.

"That other High Towner, the one still alive, he wanted her dead, didn't he?"

"Yes sir."

"What did you do?"

Again, Andre took his answer from the short silence that ensued.

For all intents and purposes, Andre's appearance could be entirely described by simply mentioning what a Deathclaw mother looks like when an unwanted creature comes too close to its offspring. As aggressive as a monster who, with nothing that went beyond simply laying eyes on that unwanted presence, could without remorse justify its intent to kill. But his time as a Desert Ranger had taught him to control the animalistic behavior he had been imparted with under the employ of The Master way back when.

So he moved on to what was most important, despite the fact that he clearly did not approve of the Private's actions, and despite the fact that he would very much like to grab him by the neck and squeeze hard enough to cause a snap.

"You better have covered your tracks well . . . "

Rem's whole presence seemed to stiffen then. The seconds slowed down. What was Andre saying? That if he hadn't covered his tracks, he would be killed? Suddenly, even Sydney was concerned.

"Sir, I know Maggie from my childhood. She an' her mother helped me git back home after my father was killed by raiders. She was unarmed an' under control. There was no ne - - "

Rem felt the absolutely jarring sensation of being reeled in by what felt like a motorized winch, and before he could even understand what had happened, he was elevated well into the sky where his feet couldn't even touch the ground. His first instinct was to drop his gun, knowing that if he attempted anything with it, any slight chance of survival would escape him.. Sydney stepped back as the rifle clattered close to her feet.

Maggie, at that point, raised her voice, "Let him go! I'll just leave!"

Andre ignored what he had heard and reached up, his hand encompassing Rem's helmet as though it were as small as a baseball and removed it, tossing it aside so he could get a good look into the Private's eyes.

"I asked if you covered your tracks."

"I tried to, sir."

The super mutant bared his yellow teeth and snarled, shaking Rem's body in his right hand as though he were a towel in the wind. "Elaborate."

"Two men went to retrieve their bodies. Reddick an' Stanley, the two High Towers who died in that detail. They might figure out it wasn't one of the Khans who gunned Stanley down."

Andre's grip slowly shifted from the collarbone piece of his armor and onto his throat, the fingers pressing into the skin before squeezing. Rem's eyes went small, and his face started turning red.

Sydney, much like Maggie, stood there in shock while Rem started coughing.

"It was a damn mistake sending you out there."

Rem stared on, both of his hands already lifted and pulling at Andre's larger, much more powerful fingers to no avail.

Maggie eyes shifted towards the rifle on the ground and then back to the scene unfolding before her.

Rem's coughing became louder and louder. Sydney's eyes wandered a few moments after Maggie's had, only she looked towards the town, hoping she would see Captain Salmons there motioning for Andre to let go. Nothing.

When she returned her gaze, she took a step forth, "Sir . . . " Then, something shoved past her, and it was damn near enough to drop her to the ground. Still out of balance, she turned to look over her shoulder and saw Maggie lowering to reach for Rem's rifle when something seemed to fly past her vision, from her left to her right.

Rem's body crashed into Maggie's before she ever reached the gun. The young girl felt as though a bighorner had rammed its head into her chest. She stumbled back, the tips of her toes eventually abandoning the ground before flying backwards into a painful fall that ended with Rem's body landing on top of her breasts horizontally, rolling across her face before his momentum threw him onto the sand.

There was a brief pause while Maggie writhed on the ground, turning onto her side, and while Rem began pushing himself up to his knees.

Andre brushed the rifle away with his foot.

"Consider yourself lucky we're short on Rangers. I suggest you tell your little friend there never to pick up a gun around me again or I'll pop her head off like a Nuka Cola bottlecap."

After glancing towards Andre, Rem held his throat and watched as he began leaving with a good measure of purpose in his strides. He was walking away from Littlefield, putting more and more distance between them, and then he broke off into a brisk jog.

Rem pressed his lips together closely after reading Andre's direction. He was heading back in the direction of High Town . . . to ensure that the new arrivals would stay.

* * *

><p>Even with pain shooting through his right arm, now fitted with a haphazardly put together splint, Nate never cursed the will of the mighty Caesar. The blood that trailed down from the left side of his head and rounded his jaw, dripping onto his chest didn't belong to him. It hadn't belonged to him for some time. It was the Legion's.<p>

If there was any concern on his side, it wasn't that his body may give in. He was strong, after all, like every Legionary was ordered to be. His concern lied in his surroundings. In that maybe, from behind the next honey mesquite tree, a night stalker might appear. Or that from just beneath the ground, a radscoprion might arise, no longer hidden by the sand.

That night had already been quite long, and from how things looked, it would continue on and on. No matter how many steps he took, his good hand clutching onto his rifle and his right leg refusing to bend at the knee without radiating agony, it felt like he was still so very far away from Littlefield. He stared into the distance for quite a while sometimes, hoping to uncover it with his glance soon before snapping out of it and being mindful of other directions.

Then, he saw something strange. It looked like a dust cloud at first, only it was moving along the ground. Upon squinting his eyes and focusing, he recognized that it was no horse, and when it turned to his direction, his heart raced.

He started taking a few steps back, and then grunted. Nate understood that he would not be outrunning this thing. Instead, he tried his best to wield his assault rifle with his broken arm. He was aligning a shot when he was finally able to make out what was moving in his direction. It was a super mutant, and in front of it, it held an iron car door that would function as a shield.

Nate lowered his hands, thanking the Ranger called Dominguez for mentioning to the High Towners that there was a super mutant Desert Ranger in Littlefield, and that he wore a trench coat like the rest of them.

Andre came to gradual stop after Nate put his weapon down and dropped the makeshift shield. His eyes went from side to the side, gauging the man's wounds.

Nate looked all the way up at the super mutant's face before dropping onto his right knee, trying his best to keep the other one stiff. " . . . Andre, am I correct?"

The large Desert Ranger turned his shoulder and nodded slowly.

"Thank god. Ian, Jude, the other two who went with me to find Reddick and Stanley . . . they were killed by Legionaries. They . . . they ambushed us at the Khan encampment and let me live so I could spread the word to the town of Littlefield."

Nate fell onto both hands, his eyes now staring into the sand.

"They hacked them to pieces! Just, started cutting them like . . . like they were invasive weeds! And they said they would do the same to the men in Littlefield!"

His despair seemed to get very little recognition from Andre. The mutant continued standing there, glancing at him, perusing his wounds and thinking everything through in his head.

"How did it transpire?"

Nate pulled his head up and stared into Andre's eyes, taking a few moments to accept that his savior, despite the condition he was found in, needed to perform his due diligence before doing anything at all.

"We arrived there at the encampment, bodies dead all over from sniper rifle fire. We stepped in . . . "

He stopped. His pupils dilated and, for a moment, he was staring into oblivion. It had just hit him. Andre was here to kill him. What Jude and Ian had found at the Khan encampment was true. That other Desert Ranger had killed Stanley and, aware of the threat that posed to the new alliance, this mutant had come here to get rid of the loose ends.

To some extent, the notion was impressive, but he had to do everything he could to stop it.

"And . . . before we could find them, we were ambushed. They used the cover around us to hide and attacked when the time was right. Ian was injured. They intended to capture us. We retreated into the Khan encampment, helping Ian along, and they were waiting for us inside. From there . . . there was nothing we could do . . . "

Nate's hands, now free, gripped the sand tightly and then screamed, "Is that enough!? Is that what you wanted to hear?!"

After a brief pause, Andre nodded firmly, and then reached out. After helping Nate to his feet, he became his support and began helping him walk.

"What do I tell them when we arrive?"

Andre answered calmly, "The truth."

That was when Nate knew that he had successfully infiltrated Littlefield. By now, the group from High Town would have arrived. Safely as well, according to plan. Soon, he thought, Littlefield would be marked by crucifixions and blood, known as one big testament to the Legion's grandeur, and he bore the responsibility of ascertaining that such a notion would come to pass.

* * *

><p>Rem took much longer than Maggie to finally take a seat. She had already found her place on the edge of the bed, where he had insisted she sleep, and with her door open, she could still see him outside in the living room walking from one end to the other. Each time, another piece of equipment was off, and it wasn't until a few minutes later that he was seated on the couch drinking water.<p>

Stepping out, she saw that his rifle was decidedly out of view, and the only thing he had on him was the pistol on his hip. She guessed she couldn't blame him for that.

Setting many thoughts aside, now that she was alone with him, she was given just the right environment for it to settle. As unlikely as it was, she had reunited with that boy she met three years ago in Brownsburough. She saw then that the time she had spent with the Great Khans was like a blur compared to the life she had lived before. Brownsburough and the people that lived there was somehow more vivid. Him, too. Then again, maybe it was because of the chems.

She set that idea aside as well when she remembered that on her way here to Rem's dwelling, she had caught a glimpse of one particular horse chewing on hay in a nearby makeshift stable. That was Louise. She had come damn near close to smiling when she recognized her. Overall, that was just yet another good way of being ascertained that she really was talking to Rem . . . or Remy, as she remembered once calling him. She couldn't possibly repeat the gesture now comfortably.

"You're really still fine with your decision to bring me?"

Twisting the cap back on his bottle of water, he gulped and set it aside on a table. "We're buildin' a home here in Littlefield, Maggie. This is as good a place as any for yew to begin a new life. Ain't ya taken a look around yet?"

She did so the moment she was spurred to do it, and raised an eyebrow after seeing that the appliances weren't hooked up to fission batteries. They were plugged in, the way the old world intended.

"We have runnin' power here, and it ain't gonna be long 'fore our irrigation system is up and runnin', too. People from all over gonna start comin' here once they hear about it, and it aint gonna matter how many damn Legionaries try an' take the place from us. I'm sure she . . . " Rem drew in a deep breath, " . . . woulda wanted yew to live in a place like this as opposed to where yew was livin' before."

Maggie leaned up against the door frame and glanced away.

For a while, Rem waited until he finally felt the need to ask, "How 'bout it, Maggie? Will ya least give it a shot?"

"I . . . " frustrated, she stopped herself from saying more than she needed and exhaled deeply. "Whatever."

She turned away and started walking back into her room. Meanwhile, Rem stood from his seated position, "Yew aint gonna regret it. Yew'll see. I'm gonna go git some water to warm up. I'm sure yer wantin' to shower."

Maggie stood at the door with her head partially turned over her shoulder, and then closed it gently. To her, this was yet another beginning that she was certain would see its end much, much too early.


	32. Wasteland tales

**Mojave Wasteland**

**September 6th, 8:19 AM**

**2267**

Rem hadn't gotten any sleep since arriving in Littlefield, unlike Maggie, who was already well into her slumber. He wished he had it as easy as she did, but right now, he was almost entirely certain that it wouldn't be very long before Captain Salmons called him in to discuss his actions. As it turned out, Rem was outside when Andre returned with the soft spoken High Towner he had met the day before, and after seeing that, he figured all there was left to do was wait.

However, it had been quite a while now, and still nothing. He was sitting in the living room of his living quarters inspecting his sidearm when there was a knock at the door. This was it, he thought, and stood in unison with a breath. His steps towards the door were slow, but when he opened it, he wasn't expecting who he saw. It was Pat.

"Been in your own little world lately, haven't you?"

Her eyebrows lifted as she turned her body to face him. Rem seemed to relax, raising his arm to rest his elbow on the door frame before leaning in some. He looked away from her and down towards the ground.

"Shit, sorry Pat. That last detail was purty . . . eventful, I guess yew can say?"

"Before that, you didn't even let me know you were headed off."

In all honesty, Rem hadn't even realized that. Thinking back on it, he had gone on about getting the mission started as soon as Captain Salmons was done laying down the details of his and Sydney's task. Rem could only pause and press his lips together.

"I don't know if you think you and I had something going on before Damon came along."

Rem's eyes widened, "Naw!" He didn't yell, but he was pretty animated about his response. Both hands raised to gesture for a stop, "That ain't it, Pat. I don't mind what's been goin' on wit' you an' Damon."

She stared into his eyes, and after concluding that he seemed to be sincere about it, she considered something else.

"So if it's not that, then what is it? Are we not, I don't know, friends?"

Again, Rem breathed out, closing his eyes.

"We're friends, Pat. I promise you that. I'm sorry. I guess I just didn't stop to think about it. I assure you it ain't ever gonna happen again, ya hear?"

Her arms were still crossed beneath her breasts, and then she turned her eyes away.

"Whatever. Anyway, what happened? Everything looks fine to me. You brought those people here to join our group, like you were asked to."

Rem realized then that word had not circulated, likely because Andre and Captain Salmons thought that the fewer people knew about it, the less likely it would be for the High Towners to find out.

"I . . . I ain't at liberty to talk about it, Pat."

Her eyes narrowed.

"So much for being friends. You can't trust me?"

"I'll tell you what the end result is, but not everythang. To prove it ain't about not trustin' yew. That sound alright?"

After a pause, Rem stepped aside, and Pat stepped into his domicile. There, she took the liberty to sit on the couch and lean back into it, her fingers sliding into the webbings of both her hands while behind her head.

Rem closed the door and sat down across from where she was seated.

"Three years an' some change ago, I lost my father in Brownsburough. The man in charge of the security was undercover helpin' some raiders eventually pillage the town. My dad moved in to help 'em with their problems. I was with him at the time. My father killed most of the raiders before bein' blindsided by the so called sheriff. After that, I was imprisoned, but I killed the person watchin' me durin' my escape before gunnin' down the bastard that did my dad in."

As she listened to the story, she stared into Rem's face, and then lowered her eyes.

"The townfolk helped me get back on my feet, and eventually helped me purchase Louise so I can git back to Ranger Center safe an' sound. One of the women there, Barbara, let me stay in her home meanwhile. That woman reminded me of my mother in so many ways. She was strong, an' . . . kindhearted. Soft."

He drew in a deep breath and let it go free, rubbing at his eyes, "She had a daughter named Maggie, a year younger than I."

Next, Rem pointed towards his room with his thumb, "She's asleep in my room."

"Oh, shit," Pat brought her hands to her lap and her eyes focused.

Rem continued, "Suffice to say, she wasn't doin thangs right. Her mother wouldn't want that fer her, so I brought her here to start a new life. It's the least I can do to repay her an' her momma fer what they did fer me."

". . . Damn, what are the chances?"

Rem shrugged his shoulders and held both hands out, shaking his head to convey the fact that he didn't know.

"I mean . . . you have her here now. All there is to do now is help her get right. Why are you stressing so much? Is she addicted to chems?"

"Naw . . . "

"Then what is it?"

"This is the part I said I wasn't gonna elaborate on, Pat. If you can do me a favor though . . . don't talk about it to no one. Don't even mention it. Jus' know that the higher-ups aint happy 'bout it, and that nobody else needs to know."

Her eyes wandered off towards the side. Rem saw indifference in her expression.

"Fuck 'em. I got your back. I like you better than all those other jackasses."

He was relieved to hear that her indifference wasn't towards his situation, it was towards the opinions of his commanding officers. A flood of memories returned to him then, concerning Pat, and the conversations they had shared before. Teaching her the alphabet, helping her read those books, all of that.

Just the night before, she had actually been thinking about the same thing. He would never know it, but the reason that she was suddenly so conscious about her friendship with him was because she had started to realize that she herself had been neglecting him in exchange for Damon. Remembering what he had done to help her intensified the uncharacteristic guilt associated with the realization, and was why she was here at all.

"Except . . . Damon . . . "

A smirk crossed Rem's lips, and he started chuckling. She followed suit.

The two of them stopped when the door to the bedroom opened. Each of them turned, and Pat eased into her seat again. Maggie glanced at Rem and then at Pat as she stepped into the living room.

Rem was just about to speak when Pat beat him to the finish line, "Hey girl. Don't worry about all the bullshit. Rem and I got your back."

Maggie, at first, was intimidated by Pat's confidence. The reactions between her and Rem were different. Maggie took the time to consider it long enough before moving along towards the kitchen, answering on her way there, "You should be more worried about him. He's the one that was almost executed by the mutant." Rem, on the other hand, was suddenly much more comfortable than he had been since before he lost Emma.

In Pat, he realized that he had a _friend. _Not a fellow soldier who would prioritize the mission over his life, but the exact opposite of that. He knew that could complicate things in the future, but there was something so elating about it that he didn't quite care. Having support in his choice to have Maggie here made it much, much easier for him to shoulder the burden.

"The mutie almost killed you?"

"He said if there wasn't already so few Rangers here, he wudda done it."

"Fuck him _and _his fat lips. He should be sucking cock for a living."

In response, Rem couldn't help but chuckle softly, shaking his head at Pat's vulgarity. Meanwhile, he lowered and tightened the laces on his boots, raising his voice, "Maggie, as far as everyone's concerned, you was a captive at that Khan encampment. You was there for two days-"

"No," Maggie answered, stepping into the living room with a glass of water in her hand. Rem glanced. "I was there for three weeks before the High Towner captives showed up. Otherwise, they would have heard the commotion when I was taken. I was kept in a separate room, locked and chained because the Khans were thinking to bring me back to Bitter Springs to use my expertise in machinery to help establish a stable way of life. They didn't want to do anything to me that would make me even less cooperative than I already looked."

By the time she was done, both Rem and Pat were surprised. Or, perhaps a better word for it would have been _impressed. _Pat released a long, drawn out whistle.

"Well awright then, darlin'." Maggie zeroed in on the last word in that statement. Was he really going to call her that regularly? "Looks like you got everythang figured out. Pat an' I know the story now, too."

At that point, Pat stood up, placing both of her hands on her lower back and bending backwards to stretch. She closed her eyes tightly as she heard a crack, and she groaned with pleasure.

"Just one thang. Do ya really know yer way 'round machinery?"

"Well . . . robotics. Just don't ask me to jury rig anything. If I don't have the exact parts I need in working order, I likely can't do much. Electronics, too, like . . . computer hacking and stuff." In a single second, her mind jumped elsewhere entirely. "Where can I find some cigarettes?"

Rem's eyes went small after she posed the question. He had to wonder if she was asking for a cigarette to ease another itch she may have. Thinking about it, however, it would be better if she smoked cigarettes instead of inhaling jet, or shooting up with psycho.

"I'll go fetch some. Gotta go see Bolders and the Captain anyway."

"Want me to come with?" Pat inquired.

"Naw, but thanks. Really, Pat. I appreciate it," he made eye contact with her to stress himself. In response, the rugged wastelander shrugged and began walking towards the door.

"Don't be a stranger," she warned. A smile spanned Rem's lips. To Maggie, Pat offered a nod, and then stepped out, closing the door behind her. As she walked away, her hands slipped into her pockets, and she realized that this new life she had found was something she wanted to fight tooth and nail over.

* * *

><p>Andre stood in Captain Salmons' office silently, an enduring scowl on his face as he stared at the back of Rem's head, who was explaining everything. The damn kid had actually had the balls to go get him out of his house and into a conference with the Captain after the misstep. It was hard to believe really, but as he listened to what the private had to say, he couldn't imagine he was making more of a fool of himself than he already had. The time spent on this conference was actually being used wisely.<p>

"I'm guessin', from the way Nate was lookin', that he ain't find out what happened. I'm also guessin' ya'll ain't told nobody other than each other, an' Mortekai maybe, 'bout it. That would mean it would be best for us to decide what the story is, and I've already conferred with Maggie 'bout it. She knew what was goin' on in there, so she's the most qualified to come up with whatever story we need to ensure thangs stay civil 'round here."

Salmons kept his hands flat on the desk, but the look in his eyes made it clear that he was as displeased as Andre had been about the whole ordeal, and that he may have already begun considering doing something to cut he and the Khan girl loose in a way that didn't raise suspicion. After seeing that the private would not continue without permission, however, he waved his hand.

"She spent two weeks there, locked an' chained in her room 'cause the Khans wanted to bring her back to Bitter Sprangs. They believed she was valuable for her expertise in machinery. More explicitly, robotics and electronics. They wanted her to help establish a more stable way of life for 'em in that region."

"Does she really. . . " Andre stopped himself when he remembered that she had been a member of a bunch of raiders.

Rem turned and stepped back so he could partially face both the captain and the mutant at the same time. "What, specialize with robotics an' electronics? She does. She said we shouldn't expect her to be able to jury rig anythang she finds but if she has the right parts and them parts are workin', she should be able to fix robots that ain't in operatin' order. She also said she's good wit' hacking computer terminals an' the like."

That moment, Captain Salmons' expression changed. Andre's scowl disappeared and became attentive instead.

"Well, kid . . . looks like redemption may be at hand."

Rem clenched his jaw.

"We know some places close to here with some inoperable protectrons lying around. Now, protectrons are damn good at noticing things, so if she can get some patrolling our outskirts . . . "

"Yew'll smile more often. Gotcha, sir. When can we begin the op?"

"Soon as Andre's ready. He'll be coming with the two of you."

"Yessir," Rem saluted the older Ranger and turned, glancing up towards Andre and nodding firmly before he moved towards the door. The mutant watched him go and returned his gaze back to Salmons. The two stared, and eventually the corners of the captain's lips dipped, "Not bad," he uttered, his voice raspy. He brought a cup of coffee to his lips and sipped, setting it down thereafter.

"How's Mort?"

"He's good. He should be able to help defend the town if anything happens. Not that it's as bad as before. Now, we've got the High Towners around, and in numbers, we're safer."

After the door closed behind Rem, he stopped in his tracks. Anger caused his blood to boil.

"Outta my way, Sydney. I don't care whatcha have to say. You musta felt good watchin' me get what I had comin'," he stepped past her, and she turned her head to watch him go. Maybe it was because of Pat's much more vivid display of friendship that he suddenly found it so easy to be angry at Sydney for the way she acted.

She nearly spoke, but instead narrowed her eyes and turned away.

"Whatever then, fuck you," she whispered so that only she could hear it, and walked away.

* * *

><p>Mortekai glanced up at the opening door as he sat there, and watched when Andre stepped in. He was dressed in his armor now, the gaping wound that once plagued his chest now closed with nothing more than a scar still present. Even that would be gone soon. The opening on his armor, however, was another story. He was already considering his options over what he could plug it with. Then, he remembered that Dominguez' armor would probably still be lying around somewhere.<p>

Andre smirked as he watched the glowing ghoul practice his quick draw before twirling the revolver around his index finger and dropping the barrel into the holster on his hip.

"Everyone's afraid of muties . . . and I don't understand why, Andre. I've never been scared of those fuckers," he quipped with feigned sincerity.

"Please," Andre responded, holding a cigar to his lips and lighting it. The cherry glowed brighter when he took a drag, and he took quite a few moments to blow out smoke before adding.

"All the radiation in the goddamn wastes couldn't bring you back if _I _wrecked you."

Mortekai responded with a scowl, his nearly non-existent eyebrows furrowed, and his right hand firmly settled atop his revolver.

"Anyway, I'm going off on an op. The raider girl that Goldilocks brought with him is apparently good with robotics and electronics, so we're going to go see about getting those protectrons up and running."

Mortekai was quick to scold his larger companion with an angry, ghostly tone, "I told you we should bring those things home just in case. See what happens when you get lazy, meat head?"

Andre tilted his head to the side, slighted, but not responsive because he knew the glowing ghoul was right.

"So, what? Am I doing to do something?"

"Just came over to see if you would be ready to defend the encampment if something happened while big daddy was gone."

Mortekai's sneer shape shifted into amusement as he released a breath, "Heh heh heh. I guess. I mean, if we get attacked and I just run out there guns blazing, Legionaries are gonna die but so are Littlefielders."

"Just shoot at them from the roof."

The ghoul waved his hand dismissively, "Get out of here. Don't let Goldilocks off you over that girl, too."

Bolders tilted his head back and laughed loudly before focusing on puffing on his cigar again.

* * *

><p>Damon was out inspecting the hydroelectric generator along with one other Littlefielder to keep watch and a High Towner who thought he should be around machinery just because he knew how to hook up a lamp to a fission battery. Though Antonio definitely wasn't qualified to keep the power generating concoction running, Damon could see that his assertiveness would make it easier for him to learn, so he wasn't treating him entirely as though he was useless.<p>

The two of them were standing there, talking about the myriad functions that composed their generator when Damon heard something approaching. Turning to look, he saw Nate's face as he limped along in their direction. His face was covered with bandages and his broken arm was in a sling hung around the back of his neck.

"You sure you should be walking around?" Damon inquired.

Nate continued his gait, "This much feels manageable, but I shall definitely begin cutting activity down. I just wanted to see how I feel, and come see what I can learn about the generator."

Antonio turned his head towards Nate, a pair of dark eyes peering into the other's face as a smirk appeared, "You wouldn't know the first thing about this, Nate. Juuust keep your distance. Wouldn't want you breaking anything."

Damon smiled, and kept his eyes angled down at a clip board in hand as Nate's limping gait brought him closer and closer behind him.

Eventually, the man of Native American lineage was standing beside him, glancing towards the clip board before looking ahead again. "You are Corporal Daley, the man who built the generator."

The Corporal nodded a few times.

"This is remarkable. You must be proficient with many different types of machinery. More than even our very own Antonio here," he gestured towards the younger individual with a gesture of his elbow.

Antonio's dark eyebrows furrowed, "Yeah, yeah, well if I was raised in Ranger Center, I'd know a shit load, too."

"There's a lot to learn in Ranger Center. Antonio's right."

"What more did you learn there, if I may ask?" Nate's left eye was closed smaller than his right, and he seemed to be back to his usual self. Antonio had heard stories about the rather terrifying description of what had happened to the others, but after being shocked to know that even a seasoned, patient individual like him could succumb to mania like that, he was glad to see that he was very quickly back on his feet.

"Well, starting with all of the machinery we have on the premises. We have solar panels powering the facility, and many household appliances in our living quarters. Vacuums, toasters, computers, and other more useful things like auto-docs, and other medical equipment."

Nate nodded his head slowly, a vague memory becoming clearer as he spent more time trying to remember. Once it was well within his grasp, he nodded slowly all over again, turning his head to Damon, "You are a commodity unlike any other in this deadly world we reside in."

As Damon thanked him for the compliment and moved ahead, Nate did not take his eyes off of him.

_Lord Caesar will make excellent use of you, Corporal Daley. _

* * *

><p>Andre was surprised that when he found Rem, he wasn't exactly ready for the detail. Ordinarily, he would have been adamant about getting the op started as soon as Salmons said it could begin, but after finding him in the junkyard, getting ready to fix something of a carriage meant for general cargo to attach onto his horse, he was placated.<p>

He was standing maybe ten feet away, smoking his cigar, while the Khan girl stood on the opposite side from him, a cigarette held between her middle and index finger. She puffed and hovered closer to Rem than Andre did.

"How long do you think this is going to take?"

Rem sighed in exasperation, smacking his palm against the slab of wood through which the axle was placed.

"This here's rotten. We're gonna have to replace the wood. So . . . I don't know," he turned his head to Andre, "An hour or two?"

In response, the super mutant simply nodded to him, giving him the green light to continue his work. As Rem turned and focused again, getting ready to break the unnecessary pieces off, Andre moved forth. "I'd help, kid, but my fingers are too big. If you need any heavy lifting done or any strength work, let me know."

Maggie turned her head up to the beastly green man. Though she was still bitter, mostly because her jaw still hurt and because the excruciating pain of Rem landing on her breasts was still well within the grasp of memory, she was still glad to see that he wasn't mostly preoccupied with snapping her or Rem's neck.

"Yessir."

"Andre, or Bolders, kid."

"Bolders," Rem ascertained. "Sorry."

The super mutant turned, his shoulder facing the two smaller humans.

"So, Mortekai tells me you was part of the uh . . . Master's Army or somethin' a few years back."

"Yeah, boy, I was." After blowing some smoke out, and after understanding that Rem wanted to know what the Master's Army even was, he began, "The Master was a . . . mutant of some kind, but not like me. Not like the ones you're used to seeing. I don't know if they've told you this, but mutants were created in Mariposa Military base, being dipped into pools of what is known as FEV. Forced evolutionary virus. The Master, however, fell into one of those pools accidentally and became some kind of ugly, disgusting, advanced mutant with crazy powers."

The way he told the story sounded tired almost, but Rem was glad that he didn't stop there. Maggie found herself becoming enthralled by the story as well. It reminded her of when Rem, three years ago, had taken the time to tell her his story.

"He decided that mutants were the next step in human evolution, and began luring people into the military base in order to capture them and dip them in FEV. Most became unstable, unable to survive the severe mutations the FEV encouraged in them, but some became super mutants. They became what I am now. And he was able to control us. I don't know how."

Rem snapped a piece of wood off and quickly took a step back when he saw an imbalance in the carriage. The wheel was twisting, about to shatter under the weight. Before it could fall, Andre's enormous hand swept beneath the construct and held it where it was.

"Go get some cinder blocks, kid. Or something to hold this up so you can work on it. You should have done that from the start, jackass. What if this thing fell on you?"

In a hurry, Rem stood and began searching while Maggie just stood there, admiring Andre's strength as subtly as possible. After Rem returned and piled a few objects on top of one another beneath the carriage, Andre let go, and continued the story once Rem was able to begin work again.

"Once the Master had accumulated enough super mutants to make an army, he began his war on humanity. He sought to turn every living being into a super mutant because he believed that was the only way to achieve unity, but encountered firm opposition in the west from a bevy of separate factions. The NCR, the Brotherhood of Steel, and even the Enclave on occasion. The war lasted a few years until someone blew up the place he lived. I heard tales that the man who did it was known as the Vault Dweller, savior of the wastes."

Rem remained silent as he listened.

"With the Master's end, many mutants were left with no purpose, and so some branched off in search of that. I eventually made it to Ranger Center, and the rest is just history, kids."

"What happened to the Vault Dweller?"

Bolders glanced at Maggie, "Hell if I know. It'd be nice if he came around again and blew up Caesar's Legion. But then again, that was a few hundred years ago. Unless he turned into a ghoul or something, he's long gone."

Meanwhile, Rem began hammering a piece of wood into place. There was so much to learn about this world. Suddenly, he found himself interested in finding out about the Vault Dweller some day, the same way Maggie also wanted to know.


	33. Awakening after eternal slumber

**Author's Note: **For those of you who are receiving the story alert and are confused as to why it seems to be the same chapter as before, well, it kind of is. I decided to alter Chapter 33, previously titled Not useless because I felt I had derailed the story from where I was planning for it to go, and because I realized that in doing so, the rest of the story may suffer. If you read this previously, break two and three have remained the same, so you may skip those, but the rest of them were changed extensively enough to be re-read. My apologies. I hope you all enjoy.

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 6th, 4:38 pm **

**2267**

Other than the fact that it had taken Rem more than two hours to get the carriage ready for use, mostly because he had actually been forced to install car tires on it and figure out a way to inflate them, the private had also been forced to admit that he hadn't had much sleep at all. Though Andre was initially displeased, he cleared him for some rest. Still, when Rem and Maggie approached him later on that day, he was glad to be going, and he was vocal about it.

"About damn time, kid."

He was seated atop a car, but he swiftly rose from it and pushed himself off with his hands. His heavy feet thudded on the ground, and when he turned, beginning his heading towards the makeshift stable that had been erected for Louise.

Having already told Pat and Damon about the next detail, Rem was much more comfortable heading off, but he did catch a glimpse of Sydney walking along in the distance as if she was actually going somewhere. He was sure she just wanted to get a good look at what was happening.

"I got Maggie a pistol, Andre. You don't mind, right?"

He remembered saying before that the Khan girl should never pick up a gun around him again, but after stopping to glance at him and then at her, he waved his hand dismissively and placed the thermic lance he had acquired from the Legion earlier in the carriage. Rem turned and nodded to Maggie, who then eagerly drew a holstered belt out from a rucksack she carried and began putting it around her waist. Thereafter, she drew out a well conditioned pistol, a Colt M1911 that Rem assured would be least likeliest to cross her, and slid it into the holster before she walked up to the carriage that had been fastened onto Louise.

Rem was moving towards Louise when a hand fell atop his right shoulder. A heavy one. He knew it was Andre's. After turning, he found himself staring up at the large mutant's green face. The silence and the expression there was enough to let the shorter Ranger know that something was going on. Likely some kind of new development that could have been avoided if he hadn't had to sleep.

"You're staying behind on this one, kid. I'll be bringing the Corporal with me."

Breathing out, Rem let his rifle fall into the jurisdiction of one single hand and nodded before he turned to face Maggie. With his free hand, he reached up and removed the black helmet he wore. The two stared at each other for a few moments before each of them, aware that there was nothing that could be done, moved along with their following motions. Maggie climbed onto the carriage and Andre grabbed Louise's reins, leading her out of the stable.

"Keep an eye out on what's behind you, Maggie."

He followed them along until, after stepping outside, Damon appeared. He was wearing blue jeans with boots, and his customary brown leather trench coat that hid his metal plate armor underneath. Pat wasn't very far behind him.

Andre brought Louise to a stop and turned to face her. From an angle, the fact that he was smiling at the beautiful horse was more noticeable. He reached up and caressed the side of her head.

"That's a good girl," he cooed. "Does she spook?"

Damon approached the carriage and Maggie slid off to the side, allowing the unfamiliar Desert Ranger to load his sleek minigun onto it. She locked eyes with him momentarily and looked away.

Meanwhile, Rem settled his eyes on Andre's and shook his head, "Naw. She's real good with that sorta stuff. I've pulled the trigger while ridin' on top o' her before an' she aint lost it. Ever."

"Good to know," Damon interjected. "Don't worry, I'll bring her back safe."

Rem considered the words. Had Pat told him about Maggie already?

"Horses are expensive," the Corporal added.

After that, Rem watched calmly as Damon mounted Louise and took hold of the reins. He kicked at her sides gently and ushered her forth. The carriage behind her creaked into motion and they were off. Pat arrived to stand beside Rem and the two stood silently.

"Yer surprsingly tame 'bout this."

After Rem shattered the silence, Pat sneered.

"I was pissed off when Damon told me I couldn't come. I bitched and moaned to him about it. He told me not to do the same thing in front of the fucking mutie."

* * *

><p>Nate wasn't certain if it was his limping and his broken hand that did it, but he was glad to see that absolutely nobody approached him as he ventured about Littlefield, as he inspected locations in the far distance. By now, he had visited multiple different locations of importance within the town. These places included the armory, where all of the ammunition could be put out of commission with a well placed bomb. That idea, however, he felt could be disagreeable by Legion standards.<p>

It'd be best to assassinate the keeper and lock the place down as solidly as possible.

Another two places he had visited were the alarms. Two of the large, powerful speakers placed throughout the town, meant to sound off when somebody activated the town wide system. Lastly, but most importantly, he had found three of the switches that could be used to set them off. One of them was in Captain Salmons' post office. The thought of killing two birds with one stone left him hungry for glory.

The most unfortunate part of his current situation was the beating he had received at the hand of his fellow legionaries. They had left him with a broken arm and a fractured knee, and the town doctor, a man by the name of Marcus Mchale, had told him that it'd be wiser for the town to save its stimpaks and allow him to recover naturally, and that could take months.

He was already considering stealing a stimpak and feigning continued injury, but he wasn't entirely keen on it. He figured the doctor would take a look at him soon, and if he found that his wounds were miraculously cured, he would be given away.

By the time he was finished planning that part of his task, he recognized that it would be best to steal a stimpak and use it perhaps an hour before beginning the sabotage campaign he intended to go through with before the Legion launched its assault. That would yield the best possible outcome, he believed, and with his eyes trained on the setting sun, he took another step forth and continued his rounds about the town.

Caesar's assault was scheduled to occur a week from now, in the dark hours of a Tuesday morning. The anticipation of it settled grimly, but he was ready.

* * *

><p>"Kid, do you hear me?"<p>

There was a pause.

"Kid!"

"Sergeant Crawford here, read you loud and clear."

Mortekai was just starting to become angry at the prospect that his errand runner wouldn't be available at the time that Andre had ordered her to be. When she answered, he skipped the introductions and began clarifying her task.

"Going to head out the back door and move towards the west of the compound. Make sure nobody is around to catch a dose of me."

"Understood."

A few minutes later, Mortekai pushed the back door open and stepped out. The air filters of his helmet were open, emanating pale green glows from within, and he drew in a deep, deep breath of crisp air. He closed the door behind him and stepped past the welcome mat, glancing left and right before he continued. From a safe distance away, Sydney watched him move.

"You can go ahead and leave, kid. I'll radio you when I need a clear trip back to my place."

The Sergeant did not, at all, appreciate the idea of being someone's errand girl. Especially if the task was as menial as this. Frustrated, she responded with a firm, but straight tone, "I'll just stay with you. Easier that way for me."

"If you don't mind waiting about five hours. Maybe more, depending on how I feel."

Underneath the helmet, her eyes narrowed. Her lips pressed tightly together. Part of her wanted to display her disdain towards the situation, but she ultimately decided that she didn't want to start off on the wrong note with one of the veteran Desert Rangers on this detail. She was displeased by the fact that her decision was influenced by her currently prickly relationship with Rem.

"I wouldn't mind going on a stroll."

"Heh," Mortekai responded. "Suit yourself."

About an hour later, after walking around the entire perimeter of Littlefield in search of anomalies, the glowing ghoul arrived at the junkyard and took his place atop one of the broken down, older world cars that didn't run on nuclear power. He removed his helmet and cast his eyes towards the sky, absorbing the sight of the countless stars. He had grown up in Los Angeles, and there, he had grown accustomed to being unable to see them the way he could here.

Even after hundreds of years, the star filled blue canvas overhead still felt alien to him, and appealing because of it.

After setting his helmet down beside him, he settled in and took another look around, eventually spotting the sniper there in the distance, seated on a rock with her rifle held at shoulder level. With her scope, she combed their surroundings, and eventually settled the rifle down at hip level. Her motions were sharp and precise. He could already tell that she was the no nonsense type.

"So, kid, I heard you and Goldilocks took out eight Legionaries in Bunkerville." Mortekai had picked up his helmet and was talking into it now in order to be heard.

For a second, she was insulted with being called Goldilocks, but then remembered that Rem was also a blonde. It looked like he hadn't seen her yet, and wasn't aware that she and the private shared that characteristic.

"That is correct. I heard you and Bolders have done better."

"We have. But for a duo of kids . . . " Sydney's eyes narrowed. "You did pretty good."

She didn't say a thing. As subtle an action that was, Mortekai still was eventually able to understand that he must have said something she didn't like. The no nonsense types, after all, were always so easy to rile up. Just like he had been during the first few years of service among the Desert Rangers. Hell, he remembered kneecapping more than a handful of fellow Rangers for picking at him too much, or for being undisciplined.

"Ki-"

"How's your wound coming along?"

Mortekai stiffened his body. She was getting back at him, identifying the fact that even though he considered himself a veteran as opposed to her, he had still come very close to being a casualty. In response, he turned to look at her in the far distance. The way she ignored him, refusing to return the glance in an attempt to purport innocence, made him furrow his brows.

"It's healed up just fine now. I'm healthy enough to put a bullet in someone's brain, and that's enough for me. I hear you're pretty good with that rifle."

She thought about it.

"I'm alright. I worked in the watch towers in Ranger Center, so I've been holding a sniper rifle in my hands most of the time for a while now. I don't feel comfortable without it. What do you work with most of the time?"

"The first, I'm sure you already know."

The thought of being blasted with lethal doses of radiation from a perfectly sentient glowing ghoul sounded terrifying.

"Other than that, I work with a 44. magnum. Stopping power in a relatively small package. That's all I need."

"No knife?"

Mortekai laughed, "Kid, please. Why would I need a knife? Or a bat? Nobody ever engages me close quarters like that when they see my armor. And when they go for the legs, it's not long before I drop 'em with radiation up close."

"I see. What if you're ever attacked hand to hand by another ghoul? Or a super mutant?"

Mortekai frowned.

"I'll put one in his or her knee, and then another between the eyes. That's a better one two _punch_ than any."

She could see that he was stubborn, but she couldn't imagine it wasn't warranted. She couldn't imagine a situation when taking on sixteen legionaries with one other squad mate would be a feasible idea, but from what it sounded like, Mortekai and Andre wouldn't waste their time with anything lesser than that. It said a lot.

"So you were really serious about waiting around for me."

"Why wouldn't I be?" she responded. Mortekai's voice was still ghostly through their communication devices.

"Maybe I don't want anybody following me around, kid."

Immediately, Sydney stood from her seat and began walking, "Have to go run some patrols anyway."

She figured that when he up and finally decided to ask her to come back in order to ensure his path home was safe, she would take her sweet time doing so as pay back. Meanwhile, Mortekai watched her go and was finally relaxed now that he wasn't accompanied.

He looked to the stars again, and wondered how long it would be before he could no longer appreciate them. One day, he would go feral, but he was glad that he would always be able to count on Andre to be around to put him down before he hurt anyone. From what he understood, ghouls that went feral went through a gradual change. Bouts of dementia, diminished reasoning, and loss of mental capacity required to operate objects that the subject was previously familiar with.

It wasn't that time yet, but he couldn't help but think about it. Especially during nights like these, when it felt it had been a long, long time.

_It's been a long winding road, _he thought silently, _. . . just waiting for the end now. But while I wait,_ he exhaled, _I'll enjoy the stars. _

He began humming an old childhood tune his mother used to hum in the pre war era. During his pre war years, he could sing relatively well, but now his voice was haunting and naturally melancholy because of the curious way it echoed. That's why he only ever did it when he was by himself now, to put into perspective who he used to be and how that affected who he was now.

* * *

><p>It had taken both Damon and Maggie a little while to become accustomed to the sight of Andre running along beside them. With an effortless jog, he had kept up with Louise's canter the entire way. But then when the establishment they were moving towards became noticeable in the distance, he leaned forth and began running faster. He put distance between himself and Louise at will. By then, Damon already knew the plan.<p>

What waited ahead of them, as Damon could begin to see, was a shopping mall still standing thanks to the rather . . . peculiar location. From what he understood, these sorts of places were always built inside communities, but not this one. It had survived the nuclear holocaust because of that.

Maggie, aware that they were nearly at their destination, stood up and supported herself on the rails of the carriage so that she could take a glance.

The dreariness of it all was something she was accustomed to seeing. The windows were shattered, the concrete worn with cracks spanning its surface like bulging veins, and the wind had spent hundreds of years dragging sand into its confines.

Damon continued the approach and slowed it down to a trot eventually so that he would have an easier time listening to the surroundings. By the time Louise eased towards one of the large, withered entrances of the mall, he felt safe. If Andre had found anything worth trouble inside, there would have been a lot of noise already. With that, he dismounted and called for Maggie to do the same. Quickly, he reached into the carriage and pulled out the ammo pack for the minigun first, tossing it onto his back. His arms slid into the slings, a line of 5mm ammo connecting it to the minigun that he reached for next.

He dragged it out and angled it ahead of him. Though Maggie could tell that it took work to carry around that enormous weapon, she couldn't help but feel safer watching the rigid and handsome Desert Ranger that she hadn't met before arm himself with something that imposing.

There, the three of them waited for Andre to get back to them. One thing Damon was aware of was that at close range, his minigun was a terrible choice of weapon. It took a few seconds for the barrels to start turning and for the bullets to start flying, so an enemy armed with a pistol inside of an enclosed area had the advantage.

It wasn't until Andre reached the entrance they were standing in front of that Damon turned and addressed Maggie, "Take Louise by the reins and lead her in behind us. We have a saying in the Desert Ranger corps. Ever vigilant. So keep an eye out. If anything sneaks up behind us, it'll be your fault."

The three of them stepped inside and Maggie paused at the emptiness of the place. The clothing stores had been entirely relieved. Old Nuka Cola machines had been dropped to the ground and pried open, their contents long gone. The very same could be said of the various food and candy machines throughout the area. Wastelanders had likely come along and broken most of the glass to get to the food.

Damon and Andre each did not stop looking around, and despite the fact that Maggie had been tasked with looking behind them periodically, they still made a habit out of throwing their glances over their shoulders for brief periods at a time.

"Check out the ceiling, guys," Maggie spoke, her voice low. "These places had automatic turrets sometimes. If there are red dots, it might mean we're about to be shredded."

The two Desert Rangers glanced skyward in unison, their eyes branching in every direction until, after a satisfactory perusal, the two looked away and in other directions.

"Of course . . . the lights might not be functional anymore and the turrets might be fine . . . "

They each snapped up again and continued walking in silence. Andre was aware that he hadn't tripped any defense systems earlier, but he hadn't walked every inch of the mall.

"Don't remember where you saw those protectrons?"

Andre was silent for a few seconds before he begun his answer, "No. The ones I saw before are gone, but there was a bank in here where I saw a few of them."

"Protectrons roamed the whole mall at night, but banks, specifically, would have at least one or two roaming them at night. It's not much of a score, but . . . "

When the three arrived at the bank, they were all surprised with what they found. There was a pile of protectrons no longer in order a few feet inside. The moment Maggie laid eyes on something she was familiar with, confidence flooded her over and she hurried her steps. She was nearly out of arm's reach when something grabbed hold of the back of her collar.

A gratuitous slap hit her on the left side of the face softly, but still firm enough for there to be a light clap. Angrily, she turned to the culprit. Andre stared her down until Damon explained. .

"There's a trap in the doorway."

Damon hadn't spent as much time as Maggie had out in the wastes, but it was in situations like these that the training received from Ranger Center paid off most. It taught him to keep a close eye on the entrances, in search of traps of any kind.

She turned, her eyes still narrow, and then peered to the ground in front of the entrance. The light that reflected off the wire revealed that she had almost foolishly tripped it.

"So, what do we do?"

Damon approached, and then lowered as best he could while he hefted the minigun. Eventually, he reached for it and touched, his fingers pinching the composition. It was harder than string. This thing was made out of copper, presumably so that it was more difficult to cut.

"It's copper wire. Gonna be hard to cut."

All three stood in silence. Andre nearly recommended stepping over the wire and being careful, but before he could, Maggie was already rummaging through her rucksack. She procured a set of needle nosed pliers with a cutting mechanism and moved it towards the line after kneeling down close to it.

Against sensing that this may very well be the first time Maggie ever cuts a tripwire, Damon remained silent, aware that those pliers were still the best tool to do it with. It didn't stop him from wanting to step away from where they were standing. If there was an explosion, he was the most hard-pressed to escape in time.

Slowly, she closed the pliers on the wire and squeezed softly, and then firmly. Maggie's eyes went wide when the line bent between the wedge of the pliers' legs, and yelped when an enormous arm wrapped around her waist. She felt it pulling her away, but stopped, and after looking down to see that it was Andre's arm, she peered back in his direction.

"The mechanism didn't go off," Damon commented, standing a few feet behind now, close to being able to hide behind Louise's carriage.

"Again," Andre encouraged.

Maggie could feel the apprehension build up inside, the thought that trying again could result in the very last moment she spends alive settling. Hesitantly, she took the pliers into hand again. This time, her grip was shaking.

"Relax. If something clicks, I'll have you out of here and behind cover before you can blink."

Andre's voice rumbled in her ear. Considering that his claim was entirely veritable, she exhaled. She did feel more at ease. Then, her hand stopped shaking, and she softly shut the cutting mechanism on the wire again, targeting the same spot that she had worn away at earlier.

The line cut, two pieces of wire falling harmlessly to the ground.

"Good job," Andre said, his arm untangling from her waist. Maggie took a few seconds to absorb what had just happened and put the pliers away thereafter, beginning to step forth into the bank and towards the pile of what would look like scrap metal to most.

"Watch the ground. Sometimes, traps aren't tripwires. You might step on a pressure plate and it could cause something else to happen," Damon commented.

Andre followed in close behind her. Damon did as well until he heard the mutant calling to him, "Stay where you are. Keep an eye out."

Maggie reached the pile and leaned in, peering closely at the protectron carcasses and the graffiti written on them throughout the years. One of them had two names written on it, encircled by a heart. Around that were a series of lewd, insulting statements composed of terrible spelling. Even though most of it was gibberish, this was the first time it felt as though she was being drawn into a single pool of time that continued swirling. Months, years, decades, or even centuries ago, someone else found these protectrons and saw fit to write on them, and now she was here to revive them.

Digressing, she reached in and began her inspection. She was taking a look at one protectron that had bullet holes in its iron shell when Andre leaned in and gathered three of them into his arms brusquely.

"H . . . hey," she complained. To him, it didn't matter. After tossing the metal contraptions into the carriage, he returned and continued his work.

"You'll get a good look at them in Littlefield," he muttered.

As she let her hands settle down beside her again, she turned and began taking a good look around. She was slowly gathered away into another train of thought until her eyes rested on Andre again, who was standing there in front of her, apparently aware that she was thinking about something.

"What?" he finally grunted.

"I'm . . . not sure if maybe they had an in-house repair room for the protectrons that roamed the bank at night. It might mean more parts. I'll go take a look."

She headed deeper into the bank then, but not before Andre stepped after her.

As the two went in further to take a look, a man in his early forties who wore a blue button up and brahmin skin pants, woke. His hand immediately moved towards the Thompson sub machine gun resting beside him and peered towards a small light bulb to his left. Despite the fact that he had been prepared to see it turned off one day, his stomach still felt emptier suddenly.

"Looks clear," Andre assured, ducking low so that he could fit in through the door frame. Maggie followed behind him and after taking a gander at the desks therein, her eyes found a large vault that she recognized from one of the several movies she had seen in Brownsburough. In the pre war era, that's where all the money was kept. Back then, this could have been an enormous haul. Now, not so much. Paper money had little worth above being used for campfires.

To the left side of the room, however, there was a door that didn't look like any of the rest. It was not in the shape of a vault and was also small enough to fit inside of a standard door frame.

"There," she pointed.

Andre moved up towards the metallic door and pushed a green button on the left side of it. After nothing happened, he pressed the button a few more times and settled his enormous hand on the surface once he was sure it was useless, pushing it softly. It didn't budge.

"I could break through it, but that might bring the ceiling down on us."

Receiving no response, Andre looked in Maggie's direction only to find her standing in front of a wall mounted computer terminal in the room that had been severely tampered with. Instinctively, she pressed the power button and was not surprised when it didn't turn on. From there, her motions were precise and certain.

First, she drew a fission battery from her rucksack followed by the needle nosed pliers from before, and then a flat nosed screw driver. With the last item, she began poking and prodding at the terminal.

"Umph," she exerted, sneering as she applied strength into the motion.

Then, Andre loomed behind her and placed one enormous hand on the terminal. The other took hold of the screwdriver, nearly encompassing the whole thing.

"C - careful. Not too hard," Maggie warned.

"Women always tell me the same thing."

"No, no, really. Jam the screwdriver in there and you might fuck up some internal components I can't repair."

"Relax."

He pushed the screw driver in between two pieces of the terminal's shell and turned it, prying them open slowly. Maggie reached out and stuck her smaller hands inside, prying them further with the utmost care as Andre backed away.

From there, Maggie stuck her hands into the computer and began rummaging through the parts, a bevy of wires and plastic. After taking her hands back out, she moved towards the exit and spoke, "I'll be back. Wait here."

Damon was just outside of the bank glancing in each direction when Maggie appeared, causing him to angle the minigun her way. Her entire body stopped, her hands rising to shoulder level to display two open palms, "Easy."

He motioned her forward with the tip of his weapon and kept an eye on the surroundings again.

Andre was up against a wall smoking a newly lit cigar when she arrived, and he watched as she used two lines from the tripwire she defused earlier to connect the computer terminal to the fission battery she procured earlier. Once she was done attaching the wire around the battery's coils, she turned to Andre and urged him over, "Here, hold this."

"The nerve," he growled beneath his breath, and held the fission battery once he was close enough. After searching, he found that there was indeed no place to rest the battery on, and the wires were too small to allow it to sit on the floor.

She pressed the power button and the two of them watched as the terminal flickered on.

"I thought you couldn't be expected to jury rig anything, girl."

"This is simple. I can do this. But . . . if the network connection is down, I couldn't fix that."

"Why?"

"Because it would either be a problem with the power throughout the mall, or a structural problem. Wires might not have any conductivity left, and to fix that, we would have to tear down the walls and run new ones. If I'm right, we don't have time for that shit."

"But . . . given enough time, you could fix it."

Maggie shrugged her shoulders.

"Maybe."

The next screen that followed up was one that asked for the password, and from there, her hands began their work as if they had a mind of their own. With her eyes glued to the screen, her fingers danced along the keypad as though they were answering to the call of music, entering commands that Andre knew he had no idea about. The Desert Rangers had been given instructions on how to hack computer terminals, but it was by no means something all of them specialized in.

"Shit, girl, where'd you learn how to do this kind of stuff anyway?"

"Home. There was a RobCo facility there with all sorts of data. I kind of grew up in that room, so I picked up a lot of stuff."

The next time Andre saw the computer screen, it was just to see that the words _access granted _had appeared. He shifted in his steps, drawing smoke into his lungs before releasing it into the air. What happened next as Maggie began walking away from the computer terminal made his eyebrows furrow. The girl passed by in front of him and took advantage of the fact that both of his hands were occupied. One with the fission battery and the other with supporting himself on one of the walls.

She reached up and snatched the overgrown cigar out of his mouth and placed it between her lips, puffing at it. Immediately, her eyes went small.

"Mmm . . . " she coughed. "You have good taste . . . for a mutie."

She reached the metal door and pushed the green button, the cigar now hanging from her lips. With a sequence of metallic sounds, it began to open, and she turned to look at Andre, "Never met a smart mutie like you before. How'd you get to become a Desert Ranger?" Smoke seeped from her nostrils as she ignored the enduring sneer coming from the large green man on the other side of the room.

The two of them emerged from the bank with Andre holding a large brown bag over his right shoulder and with Maggie still puffing on the cigar. Damon turned to face them, "Seems clear so far."

Andre loaded the bag onto the carriage and with a quick swipe, took back his cigar from the young girl's lips, muttering something about not knowing how to pass it along.

"Redemption!"

Andre whipped his head to the side just in time for a spear to go sailing past his forehead. A jagged thud caused him to whip his head back moments before red blood started trailing down towards his left eye, a rather heavy pain now manifesting where the cut had occurred. Other than the opening, which was now bleeding enough to begin covering the entire left side of his face.

"Legionaries!" the mutant bellowed.

Damon turned to his right just in time to see a staggering number of Legionaries emerging from out of cover with spears readily in hand. Maggie stopped, frozen in shock as she looked in both directions, seeing that they had enemies approaching from both sides.

The corporal cursed, infuriated by the fact that they had gotten inside without his noticing. From what he gathered, they must have used unofficial entrances. In other words, walls that were broken down and the like.

Just as spears started flying in his direction, he turned his body and fell into the cover of the bank, his finger already pulling on the trigger of his minigun. With this weapon, he was confident that he would be able to suppress the encroaching force to the left, but the right side was entirely up to Andre. After a momentary humming sound, the six barrels started to spit out bullets. The sound of the minigun firing, and the incessant muzzle flashes weighed down the atmosphere much more than Maggie expected it to. Quickly, she fell back into cover behind a desk and covered her ears, closing her eyes tightly.

Damon sneered as he swept the gun from right to left rather slowly, peppering the ground and the air with bullets that sent debris bursting in every direction. The sheer fire power made the legionaries reconsider their approach and instead get out of the way. Each of them changed angles and dove into the stores lining each side of the mall for protection.

"Come on! Come get me!" Damon yelled to them. "I'm right here!"

None answered.

Meanwhile, Andre's hand reached for the thermic lance he had loaded onto the carriage and took it into his grasp, momentarily watching the way the corporal single handedly suppressed the larger of the advancing forces. He turned to face the Legionaries approaching from the side Damon couldn't defend with his minigun and held the lance the same way he had seen the Centurion hold it before, glad that there were less enemies here, and none with thermic lances. His right hand grasped a rag that had been tied around the trigger and squeezed.

The crackling and popping sounds that ensued gathered Maggie's attention. She turned to look and saw the enormous mutant sweep forth, speeding in the direction of an enemy that she could not see.

"Corporal, leave as soon as you are able!"

Maggie perked up, glancing towards Damon and the way he continued letting the minigun rip. Eventually, one of the Legionaries that had been watching the trajectory of Damon's firing burst out from his cover and made some headway in his direction, nearly taking the time to launch a spear in the process. Before he could, however, the minigun was turned to him and while the plethora of bullets peppered the floor around him, he fell back into cover and gritted his teeth.

"You can't hide forever!"

The firing didn't stop, and before he could act, Damon's bullets tore through his choice of cover and found purchase on his skin. It tore through his armor, his flesh, his bone, and snapped the spear he had been holding in hand as he fell to the ground behind him. The other Legionaries attempted to advance as well, but again, Damon swept the trail of bullets in their direction and halted them. One of them took the barrage before he could escape and closed his eyes, two fingers from his left hand being blasted off while the other bullets riddled his groin and his lower abdomen.

He turned to glance at Louise and Andre just in time to see one Legionary being impaled on the super mutant's weapon. Andre swept the lance in an upwards circular motion that came close to the ground initially and felt the satisfaction of when the weapon pierced the armor and carried the man up into the air, screaming in pain.

Next, Damon saw something that surprised him. Maggie rushed out of cover and immediately moved for Louise. She jumped up, slid her right foot into the stirrup, and hoisted herself onto the mount. She threw a glance over her shoulder at him as she took hold of the reins.

"Get on the carriage!"

It was a huge relief. As he looked back to where those Legionaries were approaching from, three of them moved from cover to cover in his direction, and if he had stopped to remove his weapon and board Louise, it was unlikely they would get away. With him riding on the carriage, however, he was confident that he would be able to suppress their approach the same way he had been doing for the past few seconds.

He threw the minigun onto the carriage rail and hoisted himself up afterwards, pulling the trigger preemptively as Maggie kicked Louise's sides with her heels. His eyes went wide when a spear sailed overhead, but regained himself as quickly as he could and never let go of the trigger.

"Hyah! Go girl! Go!"

Louise neighed loudly and yanked forth, pulling the carriage in the direction that Maggie willed while Damon's minigun began firing all over again. The bullet cases clinked as they hit the wooden floor of the carriage. With the hefty weapon firmly settled atop the carriage rails, it was difficult to keep it from sliding left and right as Louise galloped, but he did what he could, and eventually it was clear that it was enough.

The Legionaries fell away into cover and dared not approach, especially not since the enemy was moving away meanwhile.

Andre swept the lance back down and the Legionary that had been impaled upon it fell off, thudding against the ground. That was when a bullet clanked off the armor on his chest, and turning to look, he saw a single Legion recruit pointing in his direction with a handgun in one hand and a machete in the other. He could see logic sinking its teeth into the young Legionary, screaming to him over how much of a mistake he had just committed.

With a grunt, Andre launched himself his way, his long, powerful strides devouring the distance between them while the Legionary turned and ran for one of the stores close to him.

Andre rounded the corner and his eyes went wide when he was greeted by a thermic lance.

The sizzling tip crackled and popped furiously as it struck his iron chest plate, his momentum making it enough to not only push back the veteran Legionary who was holding the weapon, but also to push the tip further into his armor.

He grunted and growled in pain when the burning sensation reached his chest.

In unison with the surprise assault, another veteran Legionary shot forth with the speed of a wayward wind and pierced for the super mutant's legs. This time, instead of backing away, Andre swept his large, heavy weapon from left to right and knocked both lances in front of him away before sweeping it back. Thanks to his strength, he was able to wield the weapon more effectively than any human ever could.

The scream that reverberated in Maggie's ears garnered her attention. She saw a Legionary with white patches of armor on him drop a thermic lance when Andre's weapon pierced his chest and came out the other side. Thereafter, three other Legionaries emerged from the darkest sections of the shoe store and engaged their positions as swift as wolves.

Each of them was carrying a thermic lance, and each of them was easily recognizable. These men had met before.

Andre backed away from them and took hold of his weapon with both hands again. The tip started to crackle and pop defiantly in the face of four other lances exactly like it. His face was contorted into a perpetual sneer as they closed in on him when a shadow flicked by beneath him.

Instinsctively, Andre turned and held up the powerful weapon he had taken up to better defend himself, and the force that crashed into him was alarming. Bacchus, the centurion that had nearly killed Mortekai, had leapt onto him from somewhere above and struck Andre's metallic weapon with all of the strength of gravity, his arms, and the heft of his weapon. There was a snap, and the super mutant dropped his weapon, now two pieces, to the ground.

The assailant landed with his balance still in hand after pushing off of the super mutant with the flats of his feet. Bacchus locked his eyes with Andre as the super mutant backed away, and the focus that slowly settled into the grim expressions of the Legionaries here made him bare his teeth.

"I'm going to kill you."

Bacchus inched closer in silence, but did eventually speak, "By the time today is over, mutant, I shall don your skull upon my right shoulder. A pauldron, and trophy . . . those shall be my rewards this night."

* * *

><p>There were few moments during which Damon was not firing his minigun. Thankfully, thanks to the ammo backpack, he didn't have to stop and reload very frequently at all, and that much had been enough to keep the Legionaries suppressed as they escaped. After they rounded another corner and the Legionaries refused to follow, he let up, the fierce weapon coming to a gradual pause.<p>

He found himself breathing heavily. Andre was back there somewhere . . . but his orders were clear.

Louise's galloping endured until suddenly, their pace slowed. Damon turned around and looked to Maggie, who was now gently tugging back on the horse's reins.

"What are you doing?!"

"There's a security room here!"

She dismounted swiftly and moved towards a door with the words _security room _posted above the door frame. With an angry growl, he lifted himself and got off the carriage, following after the Khan girl just in time to see her settling into a seat in front of a bunch of computer terminals.

"What are you going to do?"

"If this place has automatic turrets, I'm going to use them to help Andre."

Damon stopped, glancing around the room before he turned and left. He stopped at the door and desperately looked in every direction, aware that if another assault sneaked up on them from both directions, he may not be able to suppress them.

Meanwhile, Maggie frowned, hoping that the systems were functional.

Damon threw a few cursory looks over his shoulder during his patrol to catch her attempting to break open one of the side panels of the terminal array. Eventually, she kicked it open and grabbed hold of one of the metallic sheets. After yanking it away, she yelped. She glanced at the palm of both her hands, and the cuts in the middle of them that began to bleed.

Wiping them off on her shirt, she knelt down again and began digging through the components inside, glancing as she did. Everything seemed to be in tact, but much like the computer terminal inside of the bank, it didn't have power. Luckily enough for her, the fission batteries she carried, one that she had brought and others that they had found in the supply room, would suffice for that.

After hooking two of them up and pressing the power button, the terminals started to flicker to life. Some of them, at least, and provided her with an eventual image of a few select locations throughout the mall.

She waited quite a while before she saw Andre appear in one of them, backpedaling swiftly while he swung a wooden spear that he had picked up moments earlier left and right towards the Legionaries. Eventually, one of them, Bacchus, took an extra step forth and slammed the broad end of his weapon into Andre's, snapping it in two. When Andre looked to capitalize on Bacchus' relatively close position, the other Legionaries swept in with the lances roaring at him, causing him to back away.

_Damn it_, he thought, his teeth bared and his eyebrows pulled close together. At this point, it was starting to look like his best chance at survival was going to be to turn and run, but he wasn't too keen on it. He was aware that as soon as he turned his back, one of them might throw a thermic lance in his direction and find purchase.

Spurred on by the fact that Andre was still alive, Maggie furiously begun her work again. Damon gritted his teeth and glanced behind him again, "Get it going. We probably don't have much time!"

Maggie's eyes flickered to the terminals again, and there she saw something noteworthy.

"We're fine! The Legionaries that were chasing us turned back to help with Andre. We have time!"

She gritted her teeth considering that she and Damon did indeed have some seconds to spare, but the same could not be said of the mutant Desert Ranger. She could see, on the terminals, that some of them were taking less noticeable routes to where Andre was being led. Soon, they would surround him, and more than a few of them had guns this time.

If she couldn't do anything, Andre would die.

In that notion, Maggie found a strange kind of motivation that she hadn't felt before. She had drawn guns for the sake of her Khan partners before, but never without a sense of doubt to tarnish it. This time, she was aware that she was attempting to save a good man. A man that dared stand in the face of the Legionary threat, and without him, this world would be a place with even less hope than before.

Eventually, her hands were upon the keypad to the terminals, typing in rapid commands that continued peppering her with _access denied _screens, much to her frustration.

Andre's breaths were heavy. The continuous sounds of those thermic lances popping like fire a few feet from his face never stopped gathering his attention. Each time he looked off to his left or right, it felt like one of them was already coming towards him. Aside from being deadly weapons, the sounds they made were also quite disorienting, and the pain that continued burning at his chest made it clear that they were actually capable of piercing through his iron chest plate. These lances could succeed where a Deathclaw had failed.

Bacchus continued his approach, staying very low to the ground, but there was already sweat trailing down his forehead. As cold and calculating as he was, the thought that he and three other men were on the heels of the greatest predator he had ever encountered thus far in the wasteland was nothing to look upon lightly.

None of the four men ever took their eyes off their quarry. Eight eyes watching his every movement, his every glance, waiting for the right time to strike, and very accurate to the fabled discipline of the Legionary soldier, none of them ever looked at the Legionary that crept up behind Andre and gave away his position.

The super mutant roared in pain and anger when he felt a blade cut into his right thigh. The Legionary gritted his teeth, unaccustomed to failing to remove an unsuspecting victim's limb after striking it with his machete. Andre's leathery skin had prevented it, but so had his uniquely dense muscle.

This was it.

Bacchus charged forth at the exact same time that Andre's movements were fueled by pain and self preservation. He watched as the mutant snapped and took hold of the arm of the legionary behind him and swung. One of his veteran legionaries got in the way and planted the butt of his thermic lance on the ground, angling the tip towards the incoming body.

Andre felt it as the momentum of his improvised weapon was stopped entirely, the lance braced by the unforgiving earth, and watched as Bacchus shot forth, taking advantage of the clear path between him and his prey.

Maggie pushed down hard on a button that read _arm. _

A series of lights flickered in the ceilings, and some of the Legionaries in the halls turned their eyes skywards.

She waited in silence, the short seconds stretching into what felt like minutes.

Bacchus leapt once he was close enough and thrust the thermic lance forward, and she watched as the white hot burning tip struck into Andre's chest. With a snap of his hand, the mutant grasped the lance and kept it from piercing any further, and dropped backwards to continue helping in the endeavor to survive. As his body hit the ground, dust kicked up every way and Bacchus landed knelt atop him, holding onto his weapon with an iron grip.

Maggie looked to the terminal to her left again and read, _system error. network connection down. _

"FUCK!" she screamed, slamming her fists down on the terminal.

"What's wrong?!" Damon yelled.

"The network connection is down! I can't get the fucking turrets operational!"

Desperately, she stuck her hand out and reached for a microphone that was there, flicking the switch on as if it were something that she had been familiar with for years. Damon was astounded with how natural she made some things appear.

Andre sat up and stretched out his arm, pushing at the Centurion on top of him, nearly sending him stumbling back if not for the way Bacchus held on to the thermic lance and pushed down again, sliding the weapon just a little further into the super mutant's dense chest.

"Andre! There are exits in some of the stores. If you can get- "

Maggie went silent when another veteran Legionary stabbed downwards with one of those brilliant lances. Andre, miraculously, yanked his body to the left, watching as the white hot spear was embedded into the ground instead of his body. His legs kicked furiously, pushing him along the ground as best he could to get away.

"You might find an escape-"

Perhaps she had been naive to believe that after Andre avoided that first attempt, he would have the time to get up and run away. But the fact that he was done as soon as he had fallen on his back never dawned on her until one of the other veteran legionaries armed with a white hot lance stuck his diagonally into Andre's chest. The furious white tip melted the iron of Andre's armor and caused it to seep into the new wound. His scream could be heard well over to where Damon stood outside. It caused his heart to drop.

"No!"

Her voice echoed through the mall. She placed her hands atop her mouth.

Andre roared loudly before another stuck his lance into his back, and another followed it up by piercing him in the diaphragm. He yanked onto his back and then onto his side again, attempting to drag himself upwards with every ounce of strength he had and opened his mouth to scream. This time, nothing but a bloodied gurgle came out. How the thermic lances cauterized the wounds for the most part upon entry made it difficult to bear without screaming his pain into the air.

"No! No!"

Maggie's voice could be heard all throughout the mall. Helplessness seized her. By then, the four Legionaries surrounded him like a pack of vicious animals and repeatedly stabbed him in a downward angle, targeting his torso the most, but never his head, as per the Centurion's orders. Each time they did, they bellowed, evoking the strength of desperation on a whim, and she watched as Andre was conquered like some kind of wild beast of prey.

The way he swept his hands around did little to stop their vicious assault.

"No!" this time, because Andre's movements began to settle down, Maggie screamed at the top of her lungs and stood onto her feet. She found it difficult to watch, but could not take her wide, glossy eyes away from the screen.

Eventually, the mutant was numbed to the pain. His body shivered in response to some of the thrusts, but otherwise, he was placid, the right side of his face lying flat on the sandy ground. There was a peculiar calm now, in his mind and . . . his heart, one that may have been borne of the hundreds of years he had spent alive. Having seen so much bloodshed, or, more importantly, having seen so much good come out of his presence alongside Mortekai, dying now somehow felt . . . deserved.

There was so much that he had given to many people over the years, whether it was their lives, their loved ones, or much simpler help in the way of caps or safety until they could defend themselves. It brought to him a sense of accomplishment that he never expected, one that exceeded wordly limits. It didn't bother him that the Legion had finally triumphed over him, that the Centurion had been the one to lead the charge, because that much was petty compared to the thousand smiles he had dispensed throughout his life to otherwise downtrodden faces. Mortekai, he thought, would feel the same way when his time came, and he was glad to know, undoubtedly, that a sliver of happiness was to be had somewhere in his friend's future.

He didn't have the strength to grimace anymore, but as the waning moments of his life ensued, thinking back on Mortekai brought back melancholy sentiments. He realized that he had never really planned to die, unlike his counter part. Neither of them had ever been naive enough to assume that they would accurately predict the circumstances of their deaths, but he did start to contemplate now what he would say when he found out.

_Sorry . . . _he thought, his eyes going dimmer. There were large holes still sizzling throughout the span of his large body, and trace amounts of blood pooling beneath him.

_Farewell, my friend . . . _

Bacchus kicked Andre onto his back and stood over his most prized victory yet, upholding his spear with both hands, the tip angled downward. His breaths were rapid, and he peered into the mutant's eyes with a cold light in his.

He let the spear drop. With a thud and the sound of hissing metal, the intense heat allowed the thermic lance to pierce through the iron chest plate and, this time, dug into his heart. He yanked the lance out and watched as the life dissolved from his quarry's body.


	34. Turning a blind eye to the truth

**Mojave Wasteland**

**September 6th, 11:52 pm **

**2267**

Rem had dozed off when there was someone furiously pounding at his door. The loud noise jarred him from his sleep and by the time he was sitting up, his silenced pistol had been drawn into his right hand. He answered the door with a great deal of caution, pulling it open and, not much longer after, pointing the pistol outward.

The look on Sydney's face was different from what he was used to. Despite having peered into her expression during troubled times before, it was nothing like it was now. The usual stern mien was not present, only blank contemplation. Even the way she spoke lacked stoicism.

"Andre is dead."

Hearing that forced Rem to stop completely. His jaw went slack, his breath picked up, and his eyes slowly opened further. The unsettling feeling that followed was unexpected. It was beginning to feel as if the Desert Rangers on this detail were dying one by one. First Dominguez and now the commanding officer he'd considered the most capable out of the whole group.

"Come on. Salmons wants us all in the post office ASAP," Sydney urged. As she turned away, she glanced over her shoulder and stopped, her facial expression tightening, "What are you waiting for?"

Sydney watched Rem's lost eyes slowly realign with her sharper ones as if they had just returned from a trip around the world, and his presence of mind followed just a second afterwards.

". . . fuck," he lamented, raspy voiced.

Rem and Sydney entered the post office one after the other. The very first thing, Rem felt a profound sense of comfort when he looked upon Maggie and saw that she was still alive. The gloom permeating her presence, however, reeled him right back to the unbelievable reality that they were all facing now. Damon sat on a chair, his eyes aligned with the ground. Pat was leaning against a wall, silent and pensive, and then there was Captain Salmons, who gave Sydney and Rem the distinct impression that he had been deathly silent and unmoving until their arrival as well.

He leaned into the desk, at this time forgiving Pat's presence, and began, "For those of you who didn't hear the story initially, the team we sent to that shopping mall was found by Legion forces. We're not sure how, but the most important matter to discuss is that we've lost one of our own."

As Rem stopped around ten feet away from the captain and tilted his head down, he eventually allowed his eyes to trickle onto the others' faces again while they were addressed. Hearing Salmons speak about Andre's death brought back memories of Dominguez' overdose. There was something markedly different. Back then, the ones who felt it most were the officers that had been here longer. The reason being that with Dominguez gone, someone else was going to have to become more involved with the town folk, and it appeared as though nobody would have the same charisma.

It turned out that Andre was better suited for it than Captain Salmons, so for a short while, he had taken Dominguez' place, and the newer Rangers, perhaps with the exception of Sydney, moved on from it rather swiftly.

"Andre Bolders, a Desert Ranger veteran of over one hundred years, was killed by a group of highly skilled Legion Veterans earlier today in the line of duty."

Rem was beginning to see that the reason behind that wasn't because Captain Salmons had stepped up and given them a long speech about how the detail would continue, resting squarely atop their shoulders, propelled ahead by the strength that remained within each of them. He did nothing other than attempt to ensure that Sydney would not follow closely behind Dominguez because he knew that everyone else was aware of that one particular home inside the town. The one with radiation warning signs on the walls, and the veritable super soldier that lurked within.

He was all they needed to feel as though this detail was still afloat.

Furrowing his brows, Rem lifted his head and took a better, more direct look at everyone who was there and noticed more than he had previously. Maggie's youthful fear. Damon and Sydney's necessity for reassurance . . . Salmons' well hidden shock. It was then that he realized that they, that this whole entire mission, was steadily on its way to failure and that the best the Rangers here could do was figure out a way to get these civilians out west towards Nevada, where the Legion was less active.

"Though I'm sure many of us would like to take time to pay tribute to our fallen brother in arms, I must remind you that we still have a duty to fulfill here, and to do so, we are required to ensure that our inhabitants continue to feel safe. We will see this detail through to the very end, the way Dominguez and Andre would have wanted us to. Am I clear?"

He took a good look around.

Rem lowered his head at the silence, locking eyes with the captain squarely before he reiterated.

"Am I clear?"

Everyone except Rem, Pat, and Maggie straightened their posture in response to his rigid repetition. Rem, however, chimed in with the rest of the rangers, uttering with feigned resolve, "Yes sir!"

"Dismissed."

Everyone turned and began leaving, all except for Rem. Sydney was the last to step out, but before she did, she turned to glance towards the two remaining rangers inside over her shoulder. She wanted to pause and see what was about to transpire between the two, but eased herself outside and, still wanting to hear, failed to close the door entirely.

She heard a few steps in the direction of the door and watched as it was pushed shut. Given that Rem had been the one closest to it, she could tell he closed it.

Salmons tilted his head up in the direction of the young private as he paced in his direction, his hands sliding into his pockets, their gazes locked with one another. The captain didn't say a word, choosing to simply wait for it to come out. Rem appeared to think his words through very carefully, but even when he began to speak, he seemed full of uncertainty.

"Sir, if I may, I have a few questions I'd like to ask ya."

"Go ahead, private."

Rem settled into place, both his feet planted firmly.

"Watts took ten Rangers on over to Yuma . . . "

He recalled where the others had gone meanwhile. Four men to Surprise and four others to Holbrook, but he had no earthly clue how many other rangers they were meeting up with. However, he suspected it was much more than just four, like it had been for Littlefield, but he wasn't sure. There was only one way to find out.

"Two groups of four went off to Sunrise and Holbrook."

Salmons continued waiting silently.

"Why did them two other groups o' four have more 'an four Desert Rangers' waitin' for 'em in Holbrook and Surprise but not us?"

Finally, Salmons shifted. He leaned back into his chair and crossed one leg over the other, dragging his eyes away from the younger ranger, wondering who had made the idiotic mistake of letting his newest batch of soldiers know that Surprise and Holbrook did indeed have larger groups of Desert Rangers in place. That mattered little now because he could already see that what was most important now was to make sure his rangers weren't losing their nerve.

"It doesn't matter now, private. We have a job to do."

The fact that Salmons didn't discredit the blind statement he had just made confirmed that his suspicions were correct, so his next words came along with more certainty, "Sir, I think we're in over our heads here an' we need- "

"Private."

Rem took a step forth and continued despite Salmons' growing agitation, "We need to figure out a way to get these people further west, sir. This ain't right. We ain't equipped for this, an' before this becomes a disaster-"

"Private, shut up. That's an order."

He stopped.

"You're losing your nerve."

Rem scrunched up his nose and responded vehemently, but not loudly, ignoring his orders, "Hell no, sir. If that was it, I'd be tellin' ya we all need to git the hell outta here. I believe it's up to us to make sure everyone else gets out to Nevada safe an' sound 'cause if they stay here, they're gonna be slaughtered, crucified, or taken to Flagstaff. And it's gonna be on us, sir. That's gonna be on our-"

"Private!" Salmons' voiced reverberated through the post office loudly enough to make some of the walls actually shake.

That was the first time he had ever heard Salmons elevate his voice in anger. It was also the first he had ever seen of an angry sneer on his perpetually calm countenance. Rem stopped, pressing his lips together, the desire to defy still apparent.

Salmons stared him in the eye as if he dared him to say another word. Rem pulled in a quick breath and did, "I know why-"

"Private, you will shut the fuck up and follow orders!"

The same way that Salmons raised his voice, Rem did so as well, and the shouting match ensued with both men neglecting to ensure they were unheard by anybody outside, "I know why there was only four Rangers waitin' here!"

"You're not going to follow orders?!" Salmons began to stand, moving around his desk towards the younger man with clear aggression. "I'll show you what happens around here when people don't follow orders!"

"It was because of Andre! There was only four o' ya because that big green bastard was here! But now he's gone! That changes the fuckin' game don't it?!"

The two yelled at the top of their lungs over one another, each able to hear what the other was saying regardless.

In the end, Rem didn't move an inch as Salmons threw a punch. It struck clear across the cheek with a thud but wasn't enough to drop him. Taking a few steps back, the private managed to retain his balance, and slowly turned back to face the older ranger again.

That silence between them now was different. It was calmer. Rem could see that Salmons had reached his limit. Punching him was all he could do. He wasn't going to shoot him, lash him, or anything that could put him in a bed for long. Maybe that was why the next time Rem spoke, it was with surprising sincerity and support.

"Sir . . . I got your back. I ain't tryna abandon this detail, ya hear? I'll stay here 'til the end, no matter how thangs turn out. But . . . I'm right, ain't I? About that bein' why there was only four o' ya?"

Salmons turned away and headed towards his desk, his steps much calmer than before.

"Get some rest, private. Make sure your friend gets those protectrons up and running."

Rem rubbed his jaw and watched as Salmons took his leather trench coat from the surface of his desk and threw it over his shoulders.

"That's an order. And don't let me hear you talking to the others about this. If I do . . . I _will_ shoot you, private."

The captain turned back and walked right past him, moving on towards the door. Rem stared ahead and closed his eyes softly as he heard the door open and close behind him.

* * *

><p>Mortekai was laying in bed, his head supported by a soft pillow with the scent of freshly washed covers gracing his nostrils. One of his hands was under the white t shirt he wore, tracing the delineations of his layered skin, feeling out where it felt spongy and where it felt smooth. The door to his establishment opened, and after paying mind to the following steps, he was made fully aware that it wasn't Andre who had come.<p>

Still short of breath, Salmons paused before reaching Mortekai's corridor and closed his eyes. There, he stood for quite a while, attempting to regain himself. He was both surprised and angry to see that there was a thin coat of sweat creeping down his forehead.

After noticing a tube of paper towels on a table nearby, he walked up to it and took a sheet, placing it just above his eyes to soak up the moisture when he heard Mortekai's ghostly voice calling to him, "Who the hell's there?! If you don't authenticate yourself, I'm going to assume you're here to kill me, got that?!"

Salmons breathed out and answered, "It's me. Mortekai, it's me." A pause. "Salmons."

"You know better than to come in here and take too long to announce yourself, captain. What can I do for you?"

Any other day, Mortekai's mocking tone would have put a smile on his lips.

The glowing ghoul was already seated on the desk that held up the bulletproof glass in his room when Salmons stepped into sight. Mortekai placed his revolver atop the surface and leaned back, watching as the other gentleman stopped to stand in front of the glass.

"Mortekai, I don't think there's any right way to say this."

Salmons could see as the realization that something was wrong began to be reflected across Mortekai's facial expression. Next, the understanding of what the likeliest situation was settled in as well, and he sat up again, resting the palms of his hands on the desk as he waited.

"They got him?" he asked. "Captured?"

The captain shook his head.

"They killed him, Mortekai."

The ghoul's response was nothing short of explosive. He raised both hands and slammed them down on the desk with little regard for his brittle bones, "God fucking damn it!"

The piece of furniture shuddered, and Salmons turned his eyes away. He had heard a crack, and he wasn't sure if it was one of the ghoul's wrists or if it was the wood. Mortekai leaned back into his chair again and raised his hands, covering his face, howling his despair.

His head snapped forth again, baring his eyes towards the absent expression on Salmons' face.

"You have to be wrong about this. Are you sure?"

Salmons began nodding slowly, regretfully, "The corporal and the Khan girl watched it happen on some computer terminals."

Mortekai burst into another yell, his voice heard well outside the establishment as he held his hand out, "What the fuck were they doing sitting in front of some fucking computer terminals!?"

"They were trying to get the security systems online. Automated turrets to help Andre get away. The situation had gone fubar and he ordered them to leave prior to that."

Again, Mortekai covered his wide eyes and, this time, leaned into the desk, resting his elbows on the surface, "Noooo . . . Noooo . . . Fuck. This can't be real. This can't be real. Not Andre."

He slammed his fist down on the desk again and took a deep breath, "Mother fuckers! Those fucking shits!"

The entire time, Salmons kept his eyes away.

"I knew I should have come with him. I should have fucking been there, Salmons. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE!"

After hearing the ghoul yell as loudly as he could one last time before falling into muffled sobs, Salmons slowly turned away and stopped before leaving entirely. He exhaled, "Sorry, Mortekai. I'm . . . very sorry."

Shaking his head, he turned fully and began leaving, the ghoul's banshee cries growing more and more distant until he shut the door and he could no longer hear them at all.

* * *

><p>Out of all the rangers that exited the post office, Sydney was the only one who was still slated to be on guard duty. As she roamed the town, she could feel eyes on her. The guards on the watch towers watched her move along, and some people peered through their windows. Eventually, she came across Damon's home, and watched him brush Pat's hand from his shoulder as they stood in the doorway.<p>

She followed him inside angrily, slamming the door behind her. Sydney could vaguely hear the hardened wastelander yelling at him. He began yelling back, but it quickly became fully unintelligible, and she continued on her way.

After arriving at one of her lookouts, where she could see the hydroelectric generator in the distance, she spied Rem walking slowly towards his home as well. He opened the door gently and stepped inside.

It had suddenly become vividly clear that things were falling apart.

She stood there for a few minutes in utter silence when she heard foot steps behind her. She turned around and found Salmons there, who promptly called to her, "I want you to keep an eye on Mortekai, Sergeant. I just gave him the news and . . . well, I don't know what he might do."

"Yes sir," she answered firmly, and, to some degree, casually. Not because everything was truly back to normal, but because she was desperate to feel as though it was.

The captain nodded to her and turned away, walking on towards one of the homes. She knew that particular place belonged to Gunner, the chief High Towner, and his family. It looked like it was time to get the villagers more involved.

* * *

><p>"It wasn't your fucking fault, Damon."<p>

By then, the yelling had calmed. Not because there was nothing more to scream about, but because the corporal didn't have the composure to continue having a heated argument. Instead, he simply shook his head and responded softly, "You weren't there, babe. I should have let Maggie leave on her own. She could steer Louise herself. Maybe all he needed was a little help."

"People die all the time out here."

His eyes narrowed, and he could feel how the fury she incited began supplying his body with the strength to yell at her again. If there was anything about Pat that he truly disliked, it was the way she talked down to him as if she was better accustomed to things just because she lived outside of Ranger Center longer than he.

"If you go around blaming yourself over it every time, you wont last long."

Taking off his iron chest plate and tossing it onto the ground, he answered, "You know what it's like to live out here, sure, but you don't know what it's like to wear the trench coat."

Oppositely, if there was anything that Pat hated about Damon, it was the way he constantly took into account that she was a wastelander.

"Ohhhh . . . the big bad fucking trench coat. Sorry I'm not civilized and smart like all the other bitches in Ranger Center."

Throwing his shirt to the ground, Damon turned around and put his index finger close to her face, nearly touching her with it, "Don't start with me, Pat. This isn't the right time for your insecurities, you hear me?"

She smacked his hand away, "Get that out of my face."

"Whatever," he turned away again, heading towards his room as he unbuttoned his pants.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Grow some balls."

Damon's eyes widened and he turned wide around again, "Fuck you, Pat! FUCK YOU!"

"FUCK YOU, TOO!"

"Get the fuck out!"

"Throwing me out!? Really?! You're going to fucking throw me out, Damon?!"

"Get out!"

Pat bit her lower lip, her eyes going softer. Despite the way tears began flooding past her eyelids, she forced her anger to show more than her pain, "Fucking pussy!"

After watching him slam the door to his room on her, she turned around and did the same to the door that led outside. Damon heard the entire rickety old house shudder in response to her fury.

* * *

><p>After Rem stepped back into his home, he was utterly shocked by what he saw. He looked upon Maggie and slowly, his feelings expanded across his expression, showing clearly. There was a look of unyielding resolve in her eyes that he never expected from her as she worked diligently on those protectrons. His entire living room was a junkyard now, pieces of robots strewn all throughout.<p>

On one side of the room, there were eight empty metallic husks, and on the other side, there were four protectrons standing on their own two feet. Even after he closed the door, she didn't turn to look at him. However, she did speak.

"I need you to go out and find me some computers. There should be some in the post office, and more of them in the junkyard that they would have used to keep track of their stock. Find me as many as you can. Ask around or something, whatever it takes. I'm going to need one in order to rewrite the programs on these things and to check out this protectron manual I found in the supply room in the mall."

Rem couldn't help but straighten out.

"Uh . . . yes ma'am," he nodded firmly. "I'll git right on that."

He walked towards the locked gun cabinet and by the time he was headed back out towards the door, he was carrying his rifle with him and, curiously, was also wearing a rimmed hat that he had found in one of the ranches in town. He had been looking for a chance to wear it for a while, and he had found it.

He returned an hour later with a shopping cart filled with four computers and all of their corresponding parts.

Maggie turned her head to look at him and stood, walking in his direction with a purposeful stride. Rem remembered the sensation that crept up inside of him as he looked at her bare legs, uncovered by the small cloth shorts she wore from when he first saw Emma that way. As Maggie began taking the computers and other parts from the shopping cart, he couldn't help but smile, realizing that no matter what . . . he just wasn't going to be able to help being terribly attracted to her.

Not after the circumstances under which they had met, separated, and met up all over again. Then there was this . . . this powerful display of defiance that showed him how she would not be bound by the constraints of her past. She would not be relegated to the role of an ex raider with limited potential.

A smile stretched his lips, "Uh, Maggie . . . hol' on there. What's gotten into ya?"

She sat down cross legged and continued her work. First, she began opening the computer monitors themselves in order to recover the parts that seemed to be in the best condition, but she answered in the mean time, "That big guy was . . . like, I don't know, important, right? I mean, the people here must have felt safe because of him, and now he's dead. If I can get these protectrons out there patrolling the outskirts by tomorrow, it'll soften the blow."

Love was a mysterious thing. Rem hadn't been sure how to explain how it worked with him until now, not until the second time it happened to him. When he was working with Emma, after enough time went by, he uncovered things that he admired about her and decided that because of those things, he could see himself being able to love her. It was happening all over again with Maggie.

"Well . . . awright then. What can I do?"

He walked around the parts in the room, doing his best not to step on any of the more delicate pieces she had lying around when she reached her hand out, "Pass me the flat nose." Rem turned, spotted the tool, and reached for it. He had just handed it to her when the door opened. Not spending too much time realizing that he had forgotten to lock the door, he looked at the person stepping through and found Pat.

She seemed equally surprised to see the mess Maggie had created, but it was still easy to see that she wasn't well. Maggie didn't even turn.

"Can I crash here?"

Concern crossed Rem's face, but he didn't inquire upon it. Instead, he just answered, "Yeah, Pat." His voice was just a little louder, and encouraging. "'Course you can."

She stepped in and shut the door.

"So, what's going on here?"

Rem smiled so wide his teeth showed. Pat hadn't seen him smile that way since the time he was talking to her, Damon, and Sydney about hunting lakelurks. It became contagious, and she stepped forth just a little more with a newfound smile of her own.

"We're buildin' robits."

Maggie paused and looked at him, "What did you say?"

"Oh . . . I mean, uh, SHE'S buildin' robits . . . "

Immediately, Maggie burst into mischievous, mocking laughter.

"Robits?!" she repeated. "You sound like such a doofus, Rem."

Pat laughed loudly as well, and Rem feigned feeling insulted.

"ROW-BOTS. Not robits," Maggie drove further, cackling as she continued her work.

* * *

><p>It was in the late hours of the night that Sydney finally noticed something. Lifting her rifle up to shoulder level, she peered into the scope and perused the area around Mortekai's home and widened her eyes when she saw him jogging away. The door flapped behind him, shutting after bouncing off the wall of the house.<p>

She lowered her rifle and turned towards the post office, where Captain Salmons likely remained awake. It was far away. She turned back towards Mortekai again, his faint emerald glow growing more and more distant. With a grunt, she dismounted from the junked car and ran off after him.

As she began fading into the distance, a shadow crept behind the car she had been seated on.

Nate lifted his head to take a glance, his eyes sharp and murderous. He cursed the ghoul. After coming so close to killing one of the Desert Rangers, his efforts had been ruined.


	35. On the trail

**Mojave Wasteland**

**September 7th, 3:01 am**

**2267**

Everything Sydney saw was from a distance. After setting out after Mortekai, he had only spoken to her once, and that was to tell her to return to Littlefield. She responded to his ghostly voice saying that she wouldn't, and then he said absolutely nothing more. He went on about his trek to the mall as if she didn't even exist, pausing occasionally to glance things on the ground over before heading off again while she kept a safe distance between them. She also kept an eye out on their surroundings with her scoped rifle. So far, there was nothing anomalous. It continued that way until their arrival.

Two hundred yards away, she could see the glum outline of the mall, to which Mortekai was walking with a slow, careful pace, his path chosen carefully to make him difficult to spot. Instinctively, she drew up her rifle and pressed her left visor against the scope, surveying the broken walls and searching for signs of battle. From what she could tell, at this distance, the altercation must have taken place inside, considering she couldn't find anything that implicated Damon's mini gun. Most importantly, there didn't seem to be any sentries posted on the roof.

There was something worse.

Her arms went slack, and the rifle began to lower until she applied conscious effort to keep it level with her eye. She passed the instrument over the beheaded, crucified remnants of the Desert Ranger once known as Andre Bolders. Railroad spikes had been driven through his hands, arms, feet and legs to keep him connected to the crucifix. His trench coat was embedded through the skyward prong, rippling in the wind like a flag behind his large corpse. Blood from the morbid wound that had taken his head trailed down his massive chest, dripping to his groin and lower.

A chill crawled up her spine for two very terrifying reasons. The first was that it was much, much different to see the titan awaiting breathlessly, conquered and hanged up like a trophy for travelers to see than having heard of his death verbally. The second was that she was certain this was a trap, and she could end up beheaded and crucified all the same.

She remembered what Colonel Watts told them that day they trained in unarmed combat. It involved not understanding what they were getting involved in until they saw the first hard ass that saved their skin a few times nailed to a cross. Granted, Andre had never saved her life, but the brute was larger than life just looking at him. The stories she had been told about the way he snapped numerous Legionaries in half were superfluous, and now he was little more than . . . bait. A piece of meat being used to lure in another beast.

"Mortekai," she called into the communications built into her helmet. After a few moments of silence, she continued anyway, "It's a trap. They knew you would come. Andre is crucified on the roof of the mall. They're baiting you."

Unsurprisingly, she didn't receive a response whatsoever. Grunting, she spoke loudly this time, "Mortekai, listen to me. Don't go and get yourself killed like this. This isn't what Andre would want. He would want you to stay alive to avenge him."

The continuous silence began to frustrate her even further. With another grunt, she picked up her pace and began jogging after him. It angered her that she had to risk her life just to get the stubborn fool's attention.

"I don't know if you've got comms off. You probably do, so I guess I'm going to have to get really close to you in order to ensure you can hear me."

Again, she was left without a response on his part.

"You fucking asshole. You're going to hear me, like it or not!"

She began running now, straight on in his direction until he turned around and faced her, thankfully before she was in range to receive a nasty dose of radiation. Now that she had his attention, she pointed at the right side of her helmet, urging him to turn communications on.

"Go back," she heard.

Releasing a relieved breath, she began, "No, _you _go back." Any semblance of submissiveness, at this point, had been vaporized by how he was incessantly stubborn. Until now, she would have found it beyond herself to berate him in any way, or to question his intent because he was almost like a mythical creature of untold wisdom. Wisdom born of hundreds of years of combat. Now, she viewed him as little more than a foolishly suicidal man of the wastes.

"You know it's a trap. What are you going to prove with this?"

She took his lack of response as even more reason to continue. Clearly, he didn't have any logic with which to answer her question.

"Let's go back. That's your only chance at vengeance."

Mortekai shifted his weight onto his left foot and canted his eyes to the ground. He lost himself in a deep sphere containing thoughts like liquid, sloshing and crashing against the shell that contained them in a constant swirl, and when he knew that he couldn't make verbal sense of any of it enough to explain to the corporal, he lifted his eyes to her again.

What Sydney would never understand was that when he looked at her, or so much as talked to her, she wasn't his equivalent, and not in as mundane a manner as considering her his inferior or his superior. It was that he considered her so characteristically different, as lacking in similarities to him as a worm and a sea lion, that he found it difficult to even voice the reasons why he needed to do this. If he did, it would be as if spoken in a completely different language.

The time he had spent working alongside Andre had that effect on him. Over time, Mortekai had loosened his hold on the connections he once held with everything around him except his friend. At first, when the two met while wearing the brown trench coat given to them by Ranger Center, they considered themselves to be suitable vessels to carry the philosphies of the Desert Ranger. Later, it turned upside down, and it became that the reason they continued calling themselves Desert Rangers was because the philosophies fit _them. _

After seeing so many evil people brought to justice on their travels and after helping countless good people find their way, the wasteland and its ailments eventually took a back seat to the friendship they shared. That fact applied to Littlefield now.

The wasteland was the wasteland. That cycle would continue, Littlefield included, and he no longer had the strength, or the interest, to continue putting any of it before Andre and himself.

He shifted his weight onto the other foot now and answered, way he saw it, without the fluff, "Go back, kid."

The deflective tone he used caused her to grip the rifle tightly.

"Why are you doing this? What are you going to gain from it? So, you go in there and take a few Legionaries with you and end up dead. Some of those guys might be crazy enough to hang around you long enough to put you on a cross right next to him with your head lopped off. What's the message?"

Mortekai was turning again when he stopped.

"Beheaded and crucified next to him?"

The question made it clear to her that he did have his communications system off while she tried to tell him about Andre. Having to elaborate on his friend's grim end made it much, much more difficult to speak than it had been just mere moments ago. She began with a slow, confirmational nod before explaining, "Yes. They beheaded him and crucified him on the roof of the mall. His trench coat's waving in the wind. They're baiting you, Mortekai."

She could hear him take a breath in her communication device.

"They might be."

He turned fully.

"I'm going," he finalized. "Go back to Littlefield."

Way he saw it, there likely were Legionaries waiting for him at the mall, but he doubted it would be a large contingency, considering the likelihood that there was doubt concerning whether he would take the bait or not.

Meanwhile, Sydney watched him go. Staring at his back, she thought about how she didn't want to die. Especially not over an old, stubborn idiot like Mortekai.

* * *

><p>There were two different types of drinking. The first was the passive kind. Just a shot maybe, to feel the burn, and then there was the kind of drinking a man indulges in when he feels he needs a little extra something to get through the rest of the day. As Salmons sat there, holding a shot of whiskey in his hand, staring at the dark, ugly, brown coloration of the liquid, he found himself stuck trying to convince himself this was recreational. The more he failed, the more the memory of the private's words stung. It was like his throat had been slit clean through to his esophagus just as he swallowed the alcohol.<p>

It was very possible that his actions from here could cost the lives of all the townfolk.

Pressing his eyes tightly together, he tilted his head back and downed the shot of whiskey almost as a form of punishment and slammed the shot glass down on his desk. With a grunt, he poured another one, and paused all over again once it rested firmly in his right hand. Maybe they weren't in over their heads, and this was just another test that required being resolute to continue on the correct course. Many times, growing up as a deployed Desert Ranger, he witnessed leaders doubting themselves in the face of what their subordinates were saying, and saw the repercussions that could come when a commander falters.

He had set up many defense measures and briefed the town folk on them. Gunner seemed to have been impressed by them, and the young waste landers who answered his call were eager to be the pike formation that repelled the Legion's cavalry charge, whenever it happened. That, and the girl would have her protectrons up and running soon, after all.

Again, he threw his head back and poured the whiskey down his throat, swallowing strongly and, this time, tossing the glass off to the side after he was done. He was relying on children to feel ascertained of his choices. When did that happen? Maybe it was the second Andre was killed. Maybe it was an hour ago when he was informed that Sydney and Mortekai had left. Or maybe it was when he sent the private and the corporal to handle High Town on their own.

There just seemed to be no way around the fact that the world was crumbling all around him these days, and this time, he didn't have Andre's reassuring monstrous presence to rely on. He didn't have Dominguez' battle hardened countenance to remind him that though his Desert Rangers weren't all mutated abominations of palpable strength, they were still sharp, battle ready individuals.

If Mortekai was gone, too, then all he had was kids.

The door opened and Rem stepped inside, walking briskly, holding his rifle in hand but missing his helmet. Along with the wind that swept into the post office, the private's voice poured from his mouth almost like that last shot of whiskey Salmons downed, "I found their tracks, sir. They went off way of that mall."

So he was gone.

Keenly aware that there was no hiding it now, Salmons calmly twisted the cap back onto his bottle of whiskey and began to stand just as Rem surveyed the drink. The firm expression on the private's face disgusted him because he knew the lack of comment wasn't genuine. He could almost feel the doubt festering and then being tossed atop his shoulders to wear as a mantle.

"But sir . . . there's somethin' else," he added, allowing his blue gaze to trail off towards his left, momentarily glancing at a crack in the wooden floor of the captain's post office. "I found somethin' . . ."

Salmons didn't spend too much time being surprised that the private had no comment for his drinking. Instead, he tilted his head back and beckoned elaboration with just an attentive glance.

"Sydney was sittin' on one of them cars in the old junkyard 'fore she musta taken off after Mortekai."

The implications that would surely follow his suspicions were troubling enough to make him shake his head before he continued his explanation.

"There was tracks 'round the area. Well, not tracks, sir. Somethin' like what it looks like when someone's tryin' to cover prints up, an' it looked like they wanted to git in real close where they wouldn't be noticed from that specific location Sydney was sittin'."

He remembered where it was she spent a lot of time. It was on the same car hood that she was sitting on when Salmons asked him to approach her about Dominguez' death. The same location from which her tracks had led her out of the town, following the set of prints that Mortekai left behind after stepping out of his home.

"Someone was stalkin' her, sir."

"Legionaries snuck into the town?"

"Naw, sir. I doubt it. I mean, I coulda missed somethin', but I'd say that's less likely than it havin' been someone already in here, sir."

Salmons leaned back into his chair and thought deeply while Rem stood in place.

"Maybe someone just wanted to listen in on anything she was saying over her comms."

Rem paused to consider it and immediately drew a fact parallel to the claim. Before he could give voice to it, Salmons continued.

"I don't intend to play it off, or forget about it. Just stating a very real possibility."

"Them tracks are way too close, sir. If you just wanna git in an' listen to what someone's sayin', you don't risk gettin' so near. They wanted to do her in, sir."

After that, there was simply no way Salmons could go on about opening up the possibilities as to what those tracks around the corporal's position entailed. The question now was, what should be done?

The second he glanced at Rem, he could tell he had the very same question in mind.

"I didn't go lookin' aroun' that much more 'cause if whoever it was sees me, they'll know we're onto 'em. Either we do two thangs, captain. I go an' take a look aroun', see if I can find which general area them tracks lead so that whoever did it sees me and gits spooked into waitin' a while 'fore they try anythang else, or we do nothin', leave 'em feelin' confident enough to try somethin' again sooner rather than later, which might be a chance to catch 'em."

Needing little time to decide, Salmons stood from his chair and shook his head.

"No. It's time we started being more direct about things. Go see what you can find, private. In the meantime, I'm going to go see Gunner about setting up a town meeting. I'm going to let all of Littlefield know what we've discovered. Our watch saw when Mortekai and the corporal took off, they just figured it was a planned departure, so it's still pretty clear to me that our greatest weapon is our numbers. If we get the whole town to keep an eye out on who might be trying to go bump in the night, we might catch whoever it is without losing anyone."

"Yes sir," Rem nodded firmly.

"Dismissed."

With a salute, the private exited the post office.

* * *

><p>Mortekai entered the mall carefully, certain that the active stealth boy he carried on his person wouldn't be enough. It didn't suppress sound, and the post war world had a habit of leaving a plethora of debris on the ground that could give away his position. There was glass, there was rubble, and even the sand looked thick enough to make noise of he stepped on it.<p>

The phantom adversaries he was expecting to be waiting inside faced the same dilemma, but unlike raiders, he had learned that Legionaries were disciplined enough to tread silently. Ideally, however, they wouldn't be creeping around the mall the way they should if they were aware there was an enemy inside. He hoped to be lucky enough to come upon their position and find them cooking, or talking amongst themselves about the glory of Caesar before pumping them full of radiation.

Oh how long it had been since he sincerely hated an enemy. Watching them wail and moan as if their insides were melting before they spit their intestines through their mouths hadn't felt so deserved, nor as satisfying as it was going to feel today, he kept thinking.

Then, there was nothing. Not a single soul awaited him inside.

When he reached the top most level and saw the crucifix all of ten feet ahead of him, he lowered his head and approached, and didn't stop walking until he was standing beside it. He looked over the roof of the mall and absorbed the wasteland as it would have looked from Andre's current perspective.

. . . as desolate as it had been for a long time, even now after Andre had siphoned his life's blood into it for over two centuries, culminating _here. _In this very moment, finding him nailed to a wooden cross.

"What went through your mind when it happened?" he inquired with a scolding tone. It wasn't until now that he was standing next to Andre that he really put some thought into that, and the question filled him with an overwhelming fury that began to bring tears to his eyes. "You must have not regretted a single second . . . "

He whipped his body to face what was left of him and looked, specifically, to where his face should have been awaiting eye contact.

"You must have been proud. You must have thought," he looked into the wasteland again, watching the sun rise for a second before he continued with a broken voice, "You must have thought that they couldn't take away all of the good things you had done no matter what. Even then, as you died . . . wherever you were. On the ground. Or up there."

His arms raised to just below his hips, elbows pointing out left and right, and he leaned in, shaking his head at the regretful pain ravaging him now.

"God damn it . . . " he concluded, shaking his head before he rounded the crucifix and reached up for the the worn trench coat. The sound of the leather ripping as he pulled it down to him was quickly overshadowed by three buzzing beeps in rapid succession. His eyes zeroed in on the thorough explosives array once hidden beneath Andre's large coat.

Sydney heard an explosion and turned back around. Even in the distance, she could see a puff of smoke expanding into the air atop the roof of the mall.


	36. Ingenuity

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 7th, 6:23 am**

**2267**

It had taken a while to fall asleep, but it was worthwhile. The rest, Damon could see, had given his mind everything it needed to come to terms with what had happened the day before in a much, much more resilient way. He wasn't about to deny the worst of it, but some of the other smaller tempests that had resulted from it were now so very transparent. One in particular, or perhaps the only one, was the fight he had with Pat the night before. After considering that the differences between him and her were insignificant blots of sand that could so easily be swept away by a wayward sweep of his hand as opposed to the more real, more palpable truth that Andre was dead, to which he could do nothing to brush away, he found it easier to feel easier towards her. Even if she had made him feel emasculated.

He rose slowly from his bed and tossed his sheets aside, admittedly longing for the warmth of Pat's body next to him, and moved on to what was next. He hadn't received word from Salmons after debriefing the mission, and he figured it was because he believed he needed some time to rest. Still, sitting back in his home and sleeping the day away was the last thing he wanted to do. There was always the hydroelectric plant to tend to, and it brought forth the most comforting ease when the thought that all he had to do today was ensure that it was still running. For the first time since leaving Ranger Center, he felt like a genuine coward.

Did Rem feel that way at any point in time? Did he wake up some mornings finding comfort in the idea that all he had to do that day was walk around patrolling the town? Did Salmons? Did Mortekai? Sydney? Dominguez and Andre before they died? His rumination continued even until he was standing in front of the sink of his bathroom, his hands resting flatly on the yellowing porcelain, avoiding eye contact with himself through the cracked dirty mirror in front of him.

Maybe this wasn't his calling. Perhaps his purpose was the hydroelectric plant, and teaching people how to construct or repair technologies of the past in order to improve their quality of lives. It still stung, the idea of it, but he was starting to wonder if it took a greater amount of courage to forge ahead as a soldier or if it took more courage to admit to himself, and to everyone else, that he wasn't cut out to be considered a combatant first and an engineer second.

Damon carried that thought process through his bath, through the time he spent dressing in his home, and all the way to the hydroelectric plant in the distance. There were two guards awaiting there, both armed with scoped assault rifles that made their surveillance duties easier. One of them belonged to Gunner's group. He was a man in his early thirties with a hardened, sharp gaze to make up most of his expression. He appeared to be wearing a vest made out of tire thread, tied to his back and his chest with golden ropes.

The other man standing next to him had been a Littlefield denizen since before Damon's arrival. He was younger, perhaps in his mid to late twenties. His long red hair was picked up by the wind, and his green eyes were much gentler than his counter part's. He had scars, however. Some on his bare arms and one on the side of his cheek, likely earned after unwittingly dodging a bullet.

Whereas the High Towner only offered up a firm nod, the red head turned around and stepped off his high perch, approaching Damon. He wore black combat armor. That alone was a statement. Though Damon hadn't spent very much time in the presence of wastelanders like these, he had already learned that valuable possessions were very rare, and they usually entailed both luck and skill.

"Hey, we haven't met before. I'm Verest," he declared.

Verest's cheerful approach and greeting failed to pierce through the dim mien with which Damon was determined to carry himself with that day. Perhaps it was because in being approached like this again, by a friendly individual who very likely was going to be interested in learning from him, reminded him of Jeremy. He briefly pictured his funeral, his friends and family wailing and lamenting his death before they buried him.

"Damon," he answered, reaching up after Verest offered his hand, and shook it.

"Nothing to report. We've been checking the trash rack. The river's been nice to us, I guess."

It didn't show, but Verest was actually regretful of the fact that he hadn't so much as had to pick an empty Nuka Cola bottle off the rack that protected the hydroelectric plant's head.

Guard duty was among the most tedious things to do. Verest had learned this over a lengthy period of time being engaged in the protection of whichever home he inhabited at the time. Having a gun in his hand and looking dangerous for all intruders was just a way of life for him. It got to the point he sometimes wished something would actually happen. Not anything severe, of course, but perhaps a radscorpion skittering in his direction to both keep himself awake, and to have a story to deliberate with his fellow guard. Or to worry if whether there might be a nest nearby in need of extermination.

Damon simply nodded.

"Good," he uttered, and stepped by.

Disappointed, Verest's eyes dimmed. Another thing he had learned after spending most of his life guarding something or someone was that usually, he was viewed as little more than a hired hand, and some folks didn't deem him worthy of conversation. Had this been an earlier time, he may have begrudged Damon for it. Now, he simply accepted it as a notion as unavoidable as the sun scorching this Mojave sand he was standing on, and moved along, himself.

By the time Damon was inside the wooden dwelling constructed around the hydroelectric plant, Verest was back on his perch, standing next to the living statue named Harry, who wasn't, by any stretch, inclined to shed light on any of his drunken escapades as a younger lad for his partner's amusement.

Truly, truly unfortunate.

With a breath, Verest returned to his duties as a watch guard and cursed inwardly. He couldn't wait for his shift to end. Liz, the woman taking care of her younger brother in Littlefield, had started to liven his hopes. She had been intent on being an ice queen, and he understood that it was because she was in no hurry to meet a man who might come between her and her brother's relationship. Recently, however, since life in Littlefield now boasted amenities unlike in many other locations nearby, that exterior seemed to have softened. He thought she might be ready to celebrate more like an adult, and thinking about being the man she did it with, he admitted to himself, sounded like the most appealing thing to have crossed his way in a long time.

Damon was removing some of the batteries from their charger cables when Verest's voice called to him.

"Friendly incoming, sir!"

Suddenly, Damon felt at ease. It must be Pat, he thought, and the prospect of talking things out with her with a clearer head uplifted him. With everything else in shambles, it was easy for him to find motivation towards the act of reaching out for at least a miniscule amount of stability. Feeling like he would have Pat sleeping beside him again tonight was perhaps the easiest way to achieve it.

He stepped out carrying two car batteries, one in each hand, and did the best he could to appear as casual as possible, averted to making it clear that he was expecting her in any way. He didn't even turn in the direction of the visitor until after he had set the batteries down beside five others that were fully charged and ready for use, but it wasn't Pat's face he found, it was one of Gunner's men. One he had met before.

"Welcome."

After patting the dust away from his hands and settling them to his sides, Damon faced Nate completely and inquired, "What can I do for you?"

Nate stopped merely a few feet away from the well educated Desert Ranger and canted his head to the left. In the instance between taking a breath to speak and actually talking, a bevy of considerations that would never course through a harmless man's head crossed him. Whereas any passive individual may be interested in little more than a greeting, or an introduction, Nate was interested in all the little bits of characterization from which Damon was composed.

What kind of man was he?

What mattered to him most?

Before this meeting even occurred, he thought he had the answer firmly in his grasp without having to utter a word to him. Pat, the ugly bald woman who carried around a plasma weapon, shared a bed with him. That hadn't been the case tonight, however, and Nate found that he had to reassess his stance towards the Corporal and uncover if his feelings towards her lingered, or if not.

"I've . . . lived in the wasteland my whole life, and I've never seen anything like this."

Gesturing out towards the town, Nate's tanned facial features, clouded momentarily by the thick hair of his Native American ancestry, offered up a very rare, but warm, smile. "My people, they've never been so happy. Our children play. They sing songs from those . . . musicals they've seen on the television, and I'd like to thank you face to face."

It was simple when he thought back on it, and sadly so, but Nate had found throughout his work as a Frumentarii that flattery could take a man a long way. Ego was such a rampant disease, present in every man outside of Caesar's Legion that he had met. One prime example was Gunner, the old fool. Recalling the time they encountered one another made him laugh sometimes when he was alone in his room, remembering that their partnership had started with little more than a few words that complimented his prowess as a leader.

Gunner, with his ego stroked and feeling ascertained, was quickly prepared to introduce Nate to the rest of his group to everyone else as proof of his undoubted greatness as a leader, and absorbed the Frumentarii into his circle so fast Nate had to wrestle with himself not to compromise the town and enslave its people within two days of his infiltration. Though some nights, he fantasized about seeing Gunner's head on a pike just outside of High Town, he didn't disobey the almighty Caesar, and was glad to know that his patience would soon pay off.

After all, Gunner was one of the many individuals who would never see the light of day after the Legion's assault on Littlefield.

Meanwhile, Damon's shoulders relaxed. Despite his predisposition to remain sour in the direction of everything that approached him, Nate's sincere display of appreciation and the appeasing maturity behind him was disarming enough.

"Thanks," he gave in, turning around to retrieve more batteries.

While the Desert Ranger stepped inside and could be heard disconnecting wires, Nate dissected the response and was immediately able to extract the uneasiness of his quarry. He had heard word of Andre's death, something that brought to him the sweetest sense of victory that he had experienced in years, and thought that this particular victory of the Legion's may be partly responsible for it, along with the unseen woes of he and his wretched concubine's.

Damon emerged again and found Nate just standing there, glancing towards the town with a distant smile. After seeing that it simply didn't stop, he laughed softly and shook his head, drawing the mature Native American's attention. Nate looked upon Damon and tilted his eyes towards the ground and, from Damon's perspective, took the time to compose himself.

"Do you have any children?"

Nate cleared his throat, the question and the ideals that surfaced in his mind from it flashing by. He did have children, but they weren't anywhere nearby, and he hadn't seen their faces in years. They were in Flagstaff. As for the children who had come to Littlefield among High Town's people, he could only feel disgust towards them. Denizens of the wasteland wondered why their lives were so fragile, so easily taken from them, and all of the answers stood just before them as real as their reflections in the mirror. They ignored it because they didn't have the strength to let go of the old world values that dictated children should live care free lives however possible.

Every hour these children spent running around the town chasing each other in frantic games of tag was another hour wasted not hardening themselves to the same degree as the wasteland around them.

"No," he answered softly. "My children have left the wasteland behind."

Briefly, a distant longing inhabited his expression and he looked skywards. Sometimes, Nate actually felt the pain of his lies somewhere inside. He had a picture with him, something he had found years ago, of a woman and two children. The mother spent a time as one of their slaves in Flagstaff until her son was old enough to free her of her torture and, in the process, ascend into his position as a Legionary. Her daughter had birthed two children, last he remembered, but out here, outside of Flagstaff, they were his supposed family, and he used their picture to convey what that family he had lost was supposed to look like.

They had been his lost relatives long enough for him to have dreamt with them before.

Damon, for a second, was uncertain of what to say.

"Sorry to hear that," he answered, regret dimming his tone.

He nearly asked what had happened to them, but he thought better than to pry into the man's past and force him to relive whatever experience made him turn his eyes to the sky as if he wished he might find the faces of his children in the clouds. The Frumentarii, on the other hand, had already been prepared to offer the story after a long sequence of thought. He hadn't forgotten a single detail of that lie because it was an integral piece of his lethal facade.

Instead, Damon's answer prompted a gentle shake of his head, and a few reassuring words, "I've made my peace with it. I shall see them again one day. Until then, there are other children just like them in need of security."

Nate's resolution to protect other children to make up for his loss resounded deep in Damon's chest as if an explosion had rattled him, and from the gesture, he gathered at least some tiny form of strength with which to support himself.

"Indeed," he encouraged, before turning around with a much livelier energy about him. "So, how are you enjoying those amenities?"

"They've made my days brighter, Ranger," Nate answered, not a single word uttered without a reason.

* * *

><p>Rem entered his home and, unsurprisingly, found Maggie sitting in the middle of a bundle of computer junk. The only alien notion of the scene was that this time, her hands were unmoving, and she appeared to be lost in thought. She turned to glance at him and sighed, exasperated, moments before she furrowed her brows and cursed, "<em>Fuck.<em>"

Hanging his duster on the coat rack, Rem asked what was wrong. The question only served to stoke the flames of her silent fury, and she responded loudly, "I can't put together not even one fucking terminal that works."

It didn't take Rem long to consider what may need to be done.

"Well . . . I think Captain Salmons finds yer Protectrons important, and might let me go look around for some more computers."

Just then, he remembered seeing a Poseidon Energy refueling station on their way here from Bunkerville. It would have been a good place to look if they weren't normally boiling with radiation. What more, Mortekai and Andre were gone. But maybe there was somewhere else. Briefly, he considered asking for permission to go survey the mall. It would give him an opportunity to search their two missing rangers and possibly locate a functional terminal for Maggie to use.

She sat there in silence after Rem made the proposition. He gathered she may have been more frustrated with herself than the parts themselves.

"It's awright, Maggie."

The girl's entire body responded to his words, and her voice was aggressive.

"No, someone fucking _died _for these Protectrons. I said I could get them up and running, and I don't want someone else to have to die to get the parts for a running computer."

In some ways, she was beginning to resent Rem for bringing her here. Being with the Khans, she never made claims like this. They were never under so much pressure they had to scavenge for robots and hope that she might be able to make something out of them. Now? She saw that the people in Littlefield needed help, and after Rem piled her mother's expectations on her shoulders, she made the mistake of buying into it.

Now she was forced to feel responsible, forced to feel like _something _had to come out of her request for these bulky robots.

Grunting loudly, she leaned in and covered her face with both her hands, her eyes peering between some of her fingers. Then, angrily, she straightened and stood onto the flats of her bare feet, "It's utter bullshit that I can't find a working terminal when I actually need it. I'm going to sleep."

After momentarily gauging her, weighing the differences between the younger girl he met in Brownsburough and the girl he knew now, Rem encouraged, "Yeah . . . git some sleep. Git back at it later wit' a clearer head, Maggie."

She closed the door behind her and Rem eventually found Pat lying on the couch, her eyes barely open, but watching him nonetheless. A smile crossed her lips.

"What?"

Pat could see it plain as day the difficulties Rem might encounter if he were interested in Maggie, which she already suspected he was. She had been told Maggie was a raider, and that meant she had been influenced by people who weren't necessarily rougher than Rem was, but definitely not as big on those encouraging platitudes that were inherent to him as a result of his good character. Maggie didn't want a man who would coddle her whenever she was angry.

Thankfully, Rem didn't go so far with the gesture. She would have been embarrassed _for _him had he offered food, a drink, or anything superfluous.

It wasn't hopeless, however, she thought. Pat herself believed she was similar to Maggie in some ways. They were both meaner than most. Maggie internally so, and Pat externally.

As a rare compliment, Rem had convinced her he was genuinely an honorable person, and so far, he hadn't uttered a word to Damon about what happened in Pahrump. That . . . she cherished. Truly, deeply cherished.

Suffice to say, knowing that he would never betray her and would risk his life for her without a second thought, and that he would always fight for what was right, charmed her. That in mind, she understood that even if there wasn't any immediate attraction on Maggie's end, it very likely wouldn't be long before he saved her life or treated her better than anyone ever had, and the right conditions for a change of heart might be met.

Just like it had for her.

"Nothing," she responded before turning around, her back facing him now.

Then, the door to Maggie's room swept open and she stormed right back out.

"Got an idea," she declared firmly. "If I can't get these fuckers up and running, there's something else I can do."

"Here we go," Pat quipped passively, snuggling into her blanket just a little further, a smile on her face.

"What?" Rem inquired.

She moved towards the Protectrons and shoved one to the floor. It fell in a pathetic heap, and she found pleasure in the sight of it. Their bipedal design hardly promoted any real, dangerous mobility and balance for such a construct.

"Let's be honest, Protectrons are like, I don't know, the pansies of the robot world."

Rem stood there, at a distance, and interjected, "Well, Legionaries might have trouble with 'em. Some of 'em, at least. They don't all carry them lances, right? The ones that don't will be stuck tryin' to kill the thangs with normal spears."

"Please. Those guys are smart. All they need to do is get close enough and shove it to the floor. Smash its head with a rock, dig around inside, and pull out some components. Done and done."

She was kneeling in front of the dropped Protectron and was already inside its shell, searching for the parts specifically she believed may still be useful.

"So what then?" Rem asked.

"The Protectron model of robot was less about like . . . firepower and more about telling others what's going on. They were supposed to alert other Protectrons in the area _and _the police, which means these pieces of junk have signal emitters and receivers. I saw that happening in every movie I ever saw them in."

Both Rem and Pat gave that final statement the attention it deserved. Movies? Pat wondered if she meant the ones now being played in town, but Rem's home didn't even have a functional television in it. Rem, on the other hand, was immediately aware of what she was referencing, and he was also able to understand the message she was attempting to get across, but did nothing other than watch her gritty little hands digging at the robot.

She grunted and contorted her countenance before she gave up and reached for a pair of needle nosed pliers, her bare hands no longer enough. Regardless of how well aware she was of the way this specific tool could strip down bolts and make them more difficult to deal with, she put it to hard labor. Meanwhile, Rem began to feel impatient, and nearly inquired further until she found the concentration to talk and work at the same time.

"They also have some pretty serious sensor arrays. We can hide some of those around the town and when something comes uninvited, it'll send us a signal to let us know. Give us pinpoint locations, too. Saw that in movies as well."

Rem's facial expression focused. It didn't take very long at all for him to put together what he would use it for.

"That sounds great, Maggie. Captain Salmons an' I got just the thang for yer little idea there."

Her curiosity piqued, she turned her attention away from the dissected Protectron in front of her and glanced his way. Seeing that he had already reached the door and was putting his brimmed hat back on, she asked where he was going, and he replied smugly, "Yer sensor 'rrays might help us trap a lil rat, that's all. But first, I gotta go and do what I can to keep it feelin' good 'bout scurryin' around some more. Don't tell no-one."

After stepping out the door, he headed straight back for Salmons' office to let him know the meeting was a bad idea. The eyes of the town folk were a formidable defense, undoubtedly so, but there was something much more lethal and, in a way, succinct about Maggie's method. They could deploy a bevy of unbiased eyes all throughout town that nobody would know about except people they trusted.

His trip led him to stand in front of Salmons' desk. It was starting to feel like this was a regular occurrence. Even Salmons' placid, attentive expression felt a little too adherent to the norm.

Rem explained everything, to which Salmons' entire disposition flashed dimly. He even sat up in his chair just a little straighter than before, and leaned in.

"Only problem is . . . if we just catch whoever it is, it wont matter unless we catch him doing something implicating. If he's one of Gunner's boys, we can't just yank him away and execute him just because he was snooping around the junkyard."

"We gotta pick the right time, sir."

Salmons nodded slowly, and after ruminating a plan as deeply as he could, he took their plan and put real intent into it, "We'll watch him; document the locations he visits, and what his visits there might mean. The right time to nail the son of a bitch will unveil itself."

"Yes sir."

* * *

><p><strong>September 7th, 11:47 am<strong>

There was a knock at the door and Pat, having been awake by then but still lying silently in bed, staring at the ceiling, smoothly turned her head in the direction the sounds came from. With nearly labored effort, she stood from her couch and began approaching the door, wearing nothing but her underwear and a tank top.

"Who is it?"

"Damon."

Immediately, her chest tingled, and thoughts from last night made a splash after re-entering the atmosphere of her psyche. She remembered lying awake for over an hour last night after Maggie finally succumbed to her exhaustion and went to sleep, convincing herself that her relationship with him had all been little more than a way to fool herself into believing things weren't as bad as they really were.

Still, she opened the door and looked straight for his eyes. In response, he met her gaze and then looked down to her bare legs.

"There's . . . uh," she stuttered, the look in his eye more than indicative enough of what he might be thinking. "Rem has the hots for the other girl . . . so . . . "

Damon's eyes hadn't been sharp since the moment he got there. In fact, when Pat opened the door, there was a very passive expression to greet her, as if he was ready to be as understanding as was necessary.

And after her dialogue?

The most amused smile crossed his lips, and laughter followed.

Pat canted her head and, as a result of his laughter, narrowed her eyes and paid close, but gentle, attention.

"What?" she asked firmly.

"It's just," Damon began, settling down enough to speak coherently. "You're . . . so blunt. Direct. It's an intrinsic quality of yours that stands out to me."

"Small words, please," she urged, staring at him, her expression full of rigid expectation.

The smile on his lips only grew larger.

"What I'm saying is that being blunt is a natural . . . _thing_ . . . to you as a person."

He struggled to use the word _thing _instead of _characteristic_ in the hopes of not using words she didn't understand again.

"You grew up in this . . . gritty environment, and it makes you blunt. Makes you direct . . . "

Pat, at this point, was dissecting every single one of his facial expressions. Firstly, that smile, and the dimples that formed on the corners of his lips, but lastly, she noted the way his voice trailed off at the end of his last statement.

". . . and I like that so much about you. That's what draws me to you. How different you are."

Her eyes softened.

"Maybe I'm _too _different."

He lost the smile.

"No, you're perfect as you are."

Pat released a heavy breath and shook her head, "No, I'm not."

She felt the regret boiling inside her, rising to flood her throat and threatening to escape through her tear ducts and through her mouth in the form of muffled sobs.

"We're so different," she forced out her words, angry and suddenly full of sorrow over how eagerly she chased the opportunity to end their relationship in a way that didn't involve admitting that a baby that wasn't his grew in her stomach.

"We'll work them out," Damon pushed forward, his hand instinctively raising to keep her from shutting the door on him. In the same stride, he put himself so close to her he had to look straight down to find her gaze, and watched as she turned away, refusing to return the gesture.

"We can work them out. I realized that we're always so ready to take offense at something the other says, and we both need to understand that- "

"It can't be fixed. The sex . . . isn't what I'm used to. I'm sorry."

Damon stood there, watching her, utterly shocked, searching her face for clues that might ascertain whether she was being truthful or not, and before he could say anything at all, she turned her shoulder to him and nudged him away, and then shut the door.

While Pat pressed her back against the door, Damon stood there, his eyes aligned with the barrier between them but never, at all, taking the grain and the peeled paint into account. He was lost in thought, bouncing from one point of view to the other. Eventually, he briefly considered flinging curse words her way through the door in his own defense.

Instead, he shifted his weight onto the other foot and eased away from the door, turning from it, brimming with a fervent desire to get away from it entirely but as he stepped into the cracked cement pathways that weaved through the town, tainted with sand, he wondered.

He needed to talk to Rem.

* * *

><p>Rem stepped out of Salmon's office and immediately turned left, headed in the direction of his home when a voice called to him from behind.<p>

"Hey, wait a sec."

Turning around, he found Damon leaning up against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, and he couldn't help but consider how there was something very odd about the notion. For a second, he felt as though he was being hunted down.

"What's goin' on, Damon?"

Damon had reason to pause as well. He saw that, throughout the time that he had kept his eyes off of Rem, he had already become the other Desert Ranger speaking to Salmons the most. The thought that there weren't very many Rangers left anymore anyway briefly crossed his mind, but he set it aside in favor of something else that was troubling him.

"I have a question to ask . . . about Pat."

The understanding that Pat wasn't sleeping in Damon's house anymore immediately surfaced as an integral piece of context for this conversation, and so by the time Rem fully turned his body to the corporal, he was being pulled two different ways.

Firstly, he looked straight into Damon's eyes and wondered if he was too detached from the mission at hand, and should be grounded. The idea that he was busy with the captain devising ways to ensure the safety of the town while the corporal floated around trying to ensure his love life was in tact scratched a microscopic flake from the rock that symbolized his composure.

Secondly, and this occurred as immediately as the first sensation, his inherent cordiality made him feel more inclined to simply answer and help however he could.

Damon was largely unaware of the way his priorities incurred on Rem, so he continued without actually receiving permission to.

"She broke up with me . . . and," he paused to reconsider. The reason he was here, talking to Rem now, was that he had decided the reason she gave him was a lie. It _had _to be, he thought, because he remembered the things they made each other say the first time they lay in bed. Still, he had to keep considering it over and over again.

". . . and she gave me a totally bogus reason. I . . . I think it has to be something else. Something she's not telling me."

"Sounds like somethin' you should talk to _her_ about."

"So you don't know anything?"

By the time that last question reached Rem's ears, he was already turning away, "Nope."

The first step that he would have taken in the opposite direction stopped then. It didn't dawn on him until then what the implication was, what it must have meant if Pat was giving Damon false reasons as to why they should no longer be in a relationship.

Damon's eyes, thoroughly prepared to absorb every minute nuance in Rem's demeanor, picked up the pause.

"Remember something?"

Rem's reply came more fluidly than he thought it would. Perhaps it was because the second he recognized the possibility that Pat may now be aware that she was carrying a child in her belly, there was something else entirely, a detached train of thought, perhaps, that he was seamlessly able to graft on top of the thought process taking place before.

His desire to level the corporal was the perfect scapegoat. He even began with an exasperated breath.

"Just . . . _ever vigilant_, corporal."

Damon sneered the second he heard Rem's parting words. The general knowledge that the term was often used to tell soldiers with wandering thoughts to focus on the task at hand wasn't lost on him.

"What the fuck's crawled up your ass?"

The outburst came with much more fluidity than it ever had. Before, the disdain he had towards Rem and the nuances that accompanied his status as a deployed Ranger only manifested in internal dialogue, or simple thought and nothing more.

"Just because you're talking to Salmons a lot doesn't make you anything more than the rest of us."

From the very start, Rem had been prepared to walk away without responding to any barrage of insults the corporal may fling his way, but those specific three words at the very end of his statement were like droplets of moisture squeezed fresh from a lime into a gaping wound.

"Rest of us?" Rem swept his right arm outward as he turned again, "Rest of us, corporal? See that's the god damn problem. There ain't no damn _rest of us _no more, Damon, and you're too damn busy worryin' about sleepin' alone at night to even realize it."

"Where's Sydney?"

Rem's eyes sharpened, "She's gone, Damon. She took off."

"She deserted?" Damon asked, bewildered.

"Naw, she went after Mortekai. We're guessin' he would want to go see Bolders, and she musta followed him there. We ain't heard anythang from 'em, an' the captain aint willin' to send another Ranger out after 'em."

Damon took a pause to consider it all, and then shrugged his shoulders, "Not my fault nobody tells me anything."

"The captain guessed you needed some time to get yourself together after what happened at the mall; figured you'd come to him when you was ready to get back at it again, but that aint your primary concern. You had a fight wit' Pat instead and came to me about _that _as opposed to askin' me about the town status."

Rem could see as Damon's psyche froze in place, giving itself the room to see the truth in what he was being told.

"When you're ready to get back to doin' what you can to help, go see the captain. It might just be the three of us now. We're droppin' like flies, but the town needs us."

That Rem walked away actually made it much easier on him. Damon had no need to make any assurances to him, wasn't forced to pledge that it wouldn't happen again. Instead, it was as simple as understanding that he had been wrong to put so much focus on his love life and internally ascertain _to himself _that he would shift his mentality.

Still, he had no intention of leaving things with Pat where they were now.


	37. Roving Bear

**Mojave Wasteland **

**September 7****th****, 10:48 am **

**2267**

Sydney was standing there in front of a fire quietly. With it burning brilliantly before her, she stared ahead at a Poseidon Gas Station with an unwavering gaze. Mortekai was inside . . . with another ghoul, and she couldn't stop thinking about him. His condition was quite severe but she was surprised not to see any missing limbs.

"Desert Ranger," she heard, and finally her lids shut, meeting halfway before opening again. She turned to the source of the strong feminine voice that called to her and laid eyes on the other individual that arrived on the scene after the explosion that nearly killed Mortekai took place. She was a light skinned woman with light brown hair, almost blonde, and a pair of green eyes so sharp it was almost too difficult to meet gazes with her without fear of suffering cuts to the pupils. She was seated atop a relatively flat rock protruding from the ground and her forearms rested atop each of her thighs, her hands hanging between her spread legs while her upper body rested somewhat hunched.

Her entire upper torso was covered by a brown combat vest that extended onto her shoulders with bulky pauldrons. Her pelvis, along with her hips, were protected by additional extensions from the torso piece in a skirted design and finally, each of her legs, only as high up as her knees, were protected by a pair of brown greaves. There was a scoped M4 so sleek and pristine slung over her shoulder so that it rested horizontally just above belly level.

Two patches on each of her shoulders displayed a grizzly bear standing on its hind legs, its arms out with its claws protruding, and below it the word _Ranger_; as in _NCR Ranger. _When the woman arrived, finding Sydney peering at Mortekai's ravaged body from a distance, pondering if retrieval was wise or not, she approached and introduced herself as Ranger Moore. Her traveling companion, a Ghoul aside from a _veritable miracle_, introduced himself as Ranger Quinn. He did what Sydney could not, dragging Mortekai's radioactive heap to the Poseidon Gas Station nearby, which are notorious hot spots in the current era. There, Mortekai might heal.

"Yes, ma'am?"

Ranger Moore watched the Desert Ranger, mulling over what she gathered so far. Despite the fact that she couldn't see Sydney's eyes under that black helmet and its green visors, she knew that the woman was very concerned for the other Desert Ranger. The thought to assure the glowing Ghoul's survival crossed her mind but came to a decision that the platitude would be more of an irritant than anything. Instead, she decided to focus on what she was interested to know.

"What was your mission here?"

Sydney was momentarily seized by a pang of defiance. Suddenly, Ranger Moore's expression was a little too piercing for its own good. She didn't like being interrogated, but in the end, she figured that this was an opportunity to procure a satisfying exchange. She sat down on the opposite side of the flame, her rear settling into the sand, supporting herself with one outstretched hand. Her legs were feeling quite tired.

"The Desert Ranger crucified on the roof of the mall was a friend of Mortekai's," Sydney began. As her words manifested again, the tone that conveyed them became more lamenting, "They've been traveling together, working as deployed Desert Rangers for a long, long time."

As the understanding of what it was like to lose a close friend was evoked from within Ranger Moore, her exterior remained completely unmoving. The implications of what she was told fell together like a painfully simple puzzle and she answered, "He must have known it was a trap."

Sydney shifted in her seat, releasing a disappointed breath, "He definitely did. I guess it just didn't matter to him. I think . . . I think he wanted it to be a trap. Mortekai might be wrecked right now, inches from death and all, but he's not to be taken lightly. It should speak volumes that the Legionaries decided to leave him an explosive rather than an attempted ambush. They knew about him and what he does to Legionaries."

While the Desert Ranger allowed for a pause in her dialogue, Ranger Moore allowed her focus to shift towards the glowing ghoul and remembered just how dangerous glowing feral ghouls could be. If a sentient one went around blasting its enemies with radiation in a more strategic fashion, there was no telling the damage that could be done. She was about to say something when Sydney appeared to have concluded something else.

"Or maybe . . . maybe he _wanted _to die."

She wasn't even allowed a second to fully begin sinking into that thought before Ranger Moore interjected. Her eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly the second some crucial information came to mind that needed to be communicated.

"No, I don't think so."

Receiving Sydney's gaze again got her to elaborate before being asked to.

"He did what he could to survive. He moved so that the crucifix and the mutant would be between him and the explosion, from what it looks like. That's indication enough that he's not ready to die just yet."

Moore's words plunged Sydney into a whole other ocean full of thoughts that needed to be sorted out. The loudest of her sentiments was her restored faith. If Mortekai did what he could to survive before that bomb went off, it must definitely mean that he wasn't as lost as he made it seem. If that was the truth, then there was still at least a minute possibility that he might return to Littlefield to continue helping the other Rangers.

"If the crucifix hadn't been so thick, which it had to be to support so much weight, and if it weren't for the durability of a mutant's body, he would have flown off the roof and landed on the ground. That would have been certain death."

With a breath, Sydney's entire body relaxed. The tension in her shoulders was diffused and she remembered about the even exchange she had been intending to set up. "You're right. So, what's _your _mission here?" she asked casually. Ranger Moore answered without a single second of hesitation, "We're here to gauge the Legion and to get a glimpse of the Desert Rangers' operation in the area."

Sydney furrowed her bright blonde eyebrows tighter than she ever had in her life beneath her helmet and almost whipped her view towards Ranger Moore's direction. Where did the NCR get off prying into their activities?

"We've surveyed the town of Littlefield from a distance and we've concluded it's pretty well defended. The defense towers are in effective positions and we've heard the alarms going off before. The number of people inhabiting the town is quite impressive as well."

"What the hell do you care? If you're not here to help-"

"I'm guessing you're not aware of the arrangement between the NCR and the Desert Rangers."

Sydney sat up straight. That gesture alone was enough for Ranger Moore to glean that she guessed correctly, and continued.

"The reason why the Desert Rangers are setting up well fortified settlements in this area is to keep the Legion away from Yuma, where the [i]real[/i] work is being done."

"What the hell's going on in Yuma? And what do you mean; are you saying Littlefield is just a fucking decoy? There are [i]people[/i] there, not just soldiers."

"And those people will remain safe as long as you and your fellow soldiers do your job. Keeping the settlement safe is still your highest priority. It just so happens that your highest priority benefits the situation in Yuma."

Sydney felt as though the NCR Ranger had just cut her down with a knife made of ice. The pain left behind was cold, unfeeling in a sense, and overall contemptible.

"And what's the situation in Yuma?"

Up until now, the NCR Ranger hadn't made a single exasperated gesture, so when she sighed before her response it was noteworthy but not enough to deter the younger Desert Ranger. Meanwhile, Ranger Moore wondered why exactly the higher ups of the Desert Rangers were keeping important details secret.

"If you don't already know, then I'll defer to your higher ups and refrain from providing that information."

"No, please," Sydney pleaded. "I need to know. How would you feel dying without really knowing what it's for?"

Ranger Moore's face settled into a stoic expression before she responded, "A soldier doesn't need to know the reason from the higher ups. The soldiers _I _know at least. You do what you are asked."

"Ma'am . . . _please _. . . you've already said too much anyway. When I return to my detail, you can be damn sure I'll inquire as to what the detail in Yuma is about, so I might as well hear about it now."

The NCR Ranger's gaze bore into her unrelentingly but when she didn't hear anything, Sydney sighed and reached up, removing her helmet and tossing it aside. It rolled along the sand until it settled upright, the green visors staring at nothing. Without the helmet on, Moore could see the youth on the Desert Ranger's face and the frustration reminded her of herself ten years ago.

She knew what it was like to care about her work. It was a damnable restriction not to be able to know every single nuance surrounding the reasons why she pulled the trigger sometimes. Still, the answer was simple. If you don't know why you might be dying while you're out on the field, lean on the fact that regardless of anything, the real reason you might die is because you wouldn't let your brothers in arms die alone.

The response was ballooning in her throat, inching closer and closer to the tip of her tongue until she swallowed it all up and refused to let it make the climb again. In the end, there was no entity in this world that she loved more than a soldier, and this girl was exactly that. The connection was as such that momentarily, they became the exact same people, and denying her an answer was the same as denying an answer for _herself_.

"The Desert Rangers appealed to the NCR several months ago. They asked us to move into Nevada so that we can bring stability to the people there and defend them from the Legion. However, the NCR has requested Hoover Dam as incentive. Initial reports maintains the Dam is in severe need of repair and though we can manufacture some of the parts necessary to get it running again, it would demand a massive financial effort to bring them here all the way from California. All that to come fight a war right afterwards."

Though Moore spoke quickly, as if she wished to get her statement out of the way as quickly as possible, Sydney followed every word.

"So the agreement was for the Desert Rangers to seize the Laguna Dam a few miles north of Yuma, extract the parts necessary from there to get Hoover Dam operational, and transport them. It's the only dam in the area in possession of the necessary parts."

Those few precious seconds that Sydney and Moore spent being the same person came to a quiet end that was imperceptible to each of them when they separately assessed what this meant. Sydney immediately remembered Littlefield and the way a tiny electric generator attracted a large and formidable settlement that could protect itself admirably. What would happen if Hoover Dam was given to the people in the western Nevada region could be magnificent. The Legion wouldn't stand a chance of taking it over.

Moore thought that there was a long and painful road ahead for the Desert Rangers, one that they had been walking for quite a while already. She had seen what the Legion did to people, and they would have to trudge through all of that blood and rotted flesh to arrive at Hoover Dam. When that was done, the bear would come roving into Nevada, restore the Dam and wrestle the bull to the ground so that it could hurt no one. Then their settlements in California would receive a much needed supply of electricity.

* * *

><p>Rem was seated on the couch with Pat next to him, holding a small device composed of a few different components in his hand, most of which he recognized. A few feet ahead of him was Maggie, seated cross-legged on the ground. There were about twenty of the same devices sitting ahead of her. She smiled the longer Rem took to try and figure out what he was looking at.<p>

At the very least, he recognized the energy cell, used to power some energy weapons, and the sensor module as well. The latter of the two, he remembered seeing used in improvised mines. Choosing not to let him spend much more time staring, Maggie explained, "That's a sensor module and a transmitter. The energy cell powers the whole device."

"How do sensor modules work anyway?" Rem inquired.

"Radar waves. Most of them at least. Had to make sure the frequencies coming from that were compatible with the transmitters. They work, I've already tested them. I'll leave it up to you where you choose to put them. I numbered the scanners so you'll need to use a map of the immediate town so that when one of the scanners is giving me an alert, we know which one it is and where it is."

Rem nodded and stood up, "Awright, sounds good. I'll have tah go talk tah the Captain about this."

After gathering all of the devices into an old brown sack and hoisting it over his shoulder, he stepped out of the house and Pat turned her full attention to Maggie, who took a deep breath and grasped each of her feet, squeezing tightly before she rocked back and forth. She was as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"One thing boys like more than a hottie; a hottie that makes toys for them."

Maggie's shoulders hopped as she broke into quiet laughter.

"This the sort of thing you did with your old crew?"

The question was so outlandish that Maggie's eyes widened as she responded, "No. Not . . . not even close."

After a pause, Pat leaned back and lied down on the couch. She appeared glad that Rem had left because now she had it all herself. This was where she spent most of her time. She slept on it, ate on it, and moped on it . . .

"So what _did _you do?"

Maggie's gaze trailed off to her left momentarily until her attention was gathered up by the light shining in through the open window. She realized that it felt as though she had been inside for a long time now. The last time she stepped out was after the trip to the mall, but it felt longer than that. She figured that it had to be because being inside anywhere didn't feel like being home, which was wherever she set up back when she was with the Khans.

Regardless, the answer to Pat's question was painfully simple.

"Nothing."

It sure didn't feel that way while she was with them, but she recognized that mixing drugs and sleeping with Irene was lesser than the work she was involved in now, even if she _did _miss the strong willed Khan woman. Even now, the thought of being ravaged by her small but possessive hands was intoxicating, and she hurried to add to her answer.

"We survived together. That's about it."

Pat didn't allow it to show but her lips did pulse with the notions of a smile. She had been thinking about Maggie and Rem for a while and she just couldn't wait any longer to find out.

"I'm guessing that means you like it here better."

Maggie's eyebrows twitched, the one eye not covered by her hair peering towards the ground now.

"Well, no, not really. We didn't have to deal with Legionaries."

She moved and stood up, heading for the kitchen to grab something to eat. As she went on about the motions of having some lunch she added a little loudly so she would be heard, "I feel more useful here. And . . . you know, I can make toys for _girls, _too."

Pat's entire body froze. Her eyes widened momentarily and she inched her eyes towards the kitchen, the revelation smacking her dead in the face like a piece of raw meat.

"What do you say? Any requests?"

Again, there was silence.

"Not interested?"

Finally, Pat was able to say something with a serviceable amount of fluidity, "Sorry girl, you're cute and all, but I swing in the other direction."

Maggie exited the kitchen with a plate of food and a drink, walking towards the bedroom but she didn't leave the living room without uttering in an almost mocking manner, "That's a shame."

When the door closed behind her Pat stared at it in shock. That Maggie was into women itself wasn't what surprised her so much, it was the fact that Rem's interest appeared to be destined for failure. That surprise eventually turned to amusement, her hand rising to cup her mouth as she laughed quietly.

_That's fucking rich, _she thought, Rem in mind. _Poor guy. _

* * *

><p>"I'm thinkin' we should put most of 'em all around our town, sir. A few of 'em inside in some strategic locations."<p>

The expression that Captain Salmons had on his face as he surveyed the devices Maggie had concocted resembled Rem's earlier when he was taking a look at them as well. Some of the parts he recognized, particularly the energy cell, but otherwise, nothing. Setting it down, he glanced at Rem and began a slow nod.

"Sounds good. I'm going to need you to do it carefully though. If someone picks up that you're rounding the perimeter very carefully, it might throw up some red flags for the Legion and for whoever's infiltrated us."

"Gotcha sir. I'll place 'em carefully. I'll make everythang look random, won't go all around, jump from spot to spot. Another thang I wanted to ask, sir. Can I place one over in the junkyard where Sydney was at? Tomorrow, I wanna sit there for a while, and I'll have Maggie watchin' so she can let me know if anyone's creepin' up."

Captain Salmons leaned back in his chair, his eyes flickering from side to side as he considered the idea. It was quite aggressive but satisfying. Nothing would be more fulfilling than luring the bastard into a trap the way Rem intended to. The idea was enticing enough that he couldn't help but improve upon it.

"Do it. I'll be the one to go sit around in the junkyard though. If this guy's really looking to pick us off, I doubt he'll be able to resist the man in charge of the whole operation. Dismissed."

"Yes sir," Rem responded, turning around to exit Salmons' quarters. When he opened the door, he caught Damon standing there in preparation to knock. Each of them paused and looked to one another before Salmons called out.

"Corporal, come on in. Need to get you up to speed."

Damon answered, "Yes sir," and stepped in after Rem made his exit and left. Once he was inside and close enough to the Captain's desk, he stood at attention.

"I apologize for taking so long to come see you again, sir."

Salmons waved his hand and leaned back in his chair, "It isn't like you were out there doing nothing, Corporal. I saw you tending to the plant. It's good work. Anyway, I'm sure you've figured out that we're working short-handed right now."

Damon angled his head downward and nodded.

"I need one of our Rangers to be in charge of communicating with the townsfolk. I was originally going to take up the responsibility myself but I think you're the better candidate. The people know your face because you're the one who brought them all the nice things they have. That might give them a predisposition towards you."

"Yes sir," Damon responded firmly. The thought of going around talking to people wasn't repulsive by any means until the curiosity towards what things Rem may be up to poisoned his mind. The disdain subsided rather quickly when he reminded himself of the thoughts he had earlier about being an engineer first and a soldier second.

"Start by talking to Gunner. Approach him and ask him if everything's alright, if there's anything he needs some help with."

"Yes sir. I'll get right on it."

"Dismissed."

Damon turned around and began making his exit, swiftly exiting through the door and closing it behind him before moving into the town. He knew where Gunner and his guards stayed, and he made his way directly to them. Before arriving, he caught a glimpse of a few of his people lounging outside despite the unforgiving gaze of the sun. Among them was Nate, whose presence was nothing short of comforting. Familiarity went a long way.


End file.
